The Maid of the Populaire
by Miss Singing in the Rain
Summary: Many have heard of the strange affair of the Phantom of the Opera, a mystery never fully explained. But what no one has ever known is the tale of the Maid of the Populaire, the woman who helped him attempt to steal the heart of Christine Daae, in the hope she would steal his.
1. Prologue

**A/N: Happy One Hundred and Fifth Anniversary Phantom of the Opera! Now, I am going to say this right now (to quote 500 Days of Summer), this is not a love story; this is a story of girl meets boy. Or rather, Maid meets Phantom. She is the Harley Quinn to the Phantom's Joker and their relationship is not meant to be envied or wanted in anyway. Also, this story is the result of listen to the Phantom of the Opera soundtrack basically on repeat all throughout my Winter Break and, as a result, there will be reworkings of Phantom songs, as well as songs from other musicals, in this story. The complete playlist can be found on my profile, as can the costumes. Anyway, hope you like it and please review!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Phantom of the Opera or the Phantom of the Opera song "Prologue," which is the song featured in this chapter.**

Prologue

1905

A woman in black with dulled red hair and many scars across her face wandered through the decaying halls of the once grand Opera Populaire. Once it had been so full of light and magic and music and beauty… but just like everything in life, those had died as time went on. In the distance, the sound of a gavel echoed throughout the hallowed halls, but she paid no mind. As long as those money grubbing fools were occupied with pawning off the memories of others to make a few hundred francs, she could do what she'd set out to do. Strolling into the former Prima Donna's dressing room, she opened the mirror and headed down once more into the dusty cobweb covered passage, lighting a candle as she went. Finally, she reached the boat on the glassy, undisturbed lake and began to glide over the darkened waters once again. Reaching the distant shore, concealed almost completely in the mist on the lake, she stepped off onto the island and descended into the lair, gently taking sheets off of the furniture as she swept by, imagining the music that used to fill the very being of this hideaway, whether it be that cacophonous symphony of his or the gentle tinkling of the little music box. She spun around in the room, taking it up again, imagining a masked man at the organ working furiously at the organ as she painted and sketched on the steps. She sighed, breath sending dust swirling through the air like snow.

_**A hidden heaven, yes indeed**__, _she thought to herself. _**Every piece a perfect match to memory**__._ She sighed to herself. _**I think of this place, even today:**__**the silent nights in which we two would just make art**__. _She turns to the dusty organ. _I wonder…__** will you still play once more before we part?**_She sat on the filthy throne, not caring for the dust, before she flexed her fingers and began to play her Phantom's piece as she imagined herself going back to the time when they were young, and alive, and the closest thing to happy either of them had ever been.

* * *

><p>1880<p>

A young woman in maid's clothes with bright red hair and many scars across her face sat in a secluded corner of the Opera Populaire, sketching the gorgeous carved angels of gold being devoured by disfigured demons around her, the songs of the opera echoing through the halls, providing the music she needed to make her art.

"Valentine! La Carlotta's thrown another tantrum, said I didn't do a good job cleaning her dressing room, she wants someone else to do it right," an older, relatively large brown haired woman called to the red head, who groaned and rolled her eyes.

"Why me?" the young woman whined.

"Because everyone else is busy, and if you're free enough to be sketching, you should be able to clean the great prima donna's room," the older woman pointed out.

"Be careful Lorraine, don't let the ghost hear you praising Carlotta like that, or he'll drop something on you," Valentine teased.

"Don't joke about that child, now go, before we both lose our jobs," Lorraine shooed the younger woman away. Chuckling to herself, Valentine hurried into the dressing room and began her work. _Another day spent dusting and drying and sweeping and scrubbing, getting my hands eaten away by lye, until they go numb with pain,_ she lamented as she polished the mirror. _As long as I make rent, can eat, and perhaps put a little extra for paint, pencils, and canvas, who can complain? _she admitted, polishing the frame. As she got to the right top corner, she noticed something odd. There was some kind of latch on the mirror, like the kind used for secret doors. Furrowing her brow, she triggered it. The mirror slid open, revealing a passage behind. Gasping, Valentine gazed into the darkness, seeing nothing but black. Glancing behind, back into the bright, golden, gilded dressing room, the maid considered her options. _If I go down there, I could get fired for not cleaning the dressing room or for snooping in places I'm not supposed to,_ she noted. Turning back to the darkness, she also noted, _but who's to say anyone will notice me being gone? Besides, what if I find something worthwhile down there? _Smiling to herself, she grabbed and lit a candle from the prima donna's vanity, before clambering through the mirror and descending into the darkness. The cold stonewalls gave nothing away, the candle barely lit the way two feet in front of her, and soon the passage split into multiple paths. _Now what?_ she wondered. But the faint sound of an organ playing in the distance caught her attention and following her ear she headed toward the familiar noise. Suddenly the path opened up and she found herself in some sort of underground cavern, with swirling mist upon a vast glassy lake, illuminated by hundreds of flickering candles. Drinking up what was perhaps the most beautiful sight she'd ever seen, Valentine's eyes were eventually drawn to a collection of candles across the lake. An island perhaps? The young red headed woman reached down to test the waters. _Doesn't seem that deep to me_, she thought. _And I can swim well enough if it is. _So, hiking up her skirts, Valentine braved the lake and started to wade across to the supposed island, the ripples she made making the candlelight reflections on the water flicker and wave as she went. After finally crawling upon the bank of the island and smiling as she noticed the beautiful black wooden carved gondola, she stepped up a staircase until she found herself looking down into an open area with a great organ and throne surrounded by the grandest candelabras she'd ever seen. Drawing her knife as a precaution, she began to descend the steps into the hidden haven. Suddenly, something was around her neck and she was thrashing about, trying to breathe, but failing due to the rope that was currently choking her. Desperately, she thrust her knife behind her. The shout and growl of pain and the rope lessening the pressure on her throat told her she'd hit her mark and she wildly stumbled away, yanking the hangman's noose from around her neck.

"Who are you and what do you want!" she shouted, brandishing her knife wildly in the darkness, having lost sight of her attacker.

"Me? Who are you, to invade my home and attack me in such a manner!" a magnificent disembodied voice yelled in reply. Valentine rolled her eyes and made a noise of annoyance.

"Oh my apologies monsieur," she responded, words dripping with sarcasm, "but you did just try to kill me and most do not expect to find anyone living the catacombs of the Opera Populai–" She stopped when she realized what she'd said. A man. Had just tried to kill her. In a hidden passage of the Opera House. Which was supposedly haunted by a ghost. She paled. "You're – you're him, aren't you. You're the Phantom of the Opera!" The silence was a good enough answer for her and her jaw dropped. "My God. Half of me is considering running back upstairs and telling the whole house what I've found."

"And what's to stop me from killing you where you stand?" the voice shouted, echoing around the room.

"Nothing, though you didn't let me finish. If I am to die, will you at least allow me to draw this masterpiece of a home?" she requested, hurriedly taking a pencil and small notepad from the bodice of her dress.

"Draw? You want to draw this hell?" The ghost sounded almost confused, as though completely naïve to the grandeur of his home.

"Hell?" she repeated, turning around in hopes of somehow finding the phantom so as to address him properly. "This is _heaven_ dear monsieur. The way the light reflects on the surface of the lake, the way the fog glows because of the candles, and how the boat rests on the mist makes it look like it's floating on clouds. And my dear phantom, that's just the lake. Your home is a masterpiece. It all looks like it's right out of a fairytale. I could spend an eternity painting the organ alone." She frowned when she realized how bare it was for a home. "I am assuming that this is just your entry way, however, unless you are truly a ghost and have no need of a bed or kitchen." There was silence for a brief moment.

"Brava mademoiselle," the Phantom whispered in her ear, and Valentine rushed forward, pointing her knife at him warily. He was tall, lean, with slicked back black hair, and dressed in all black, save for his white button up shirt and porcelain mask. Ignoring the mask, she stared defiantly into his brilliant black and blue eyes and he simply smiled. "I'll admit, I have never seen such bravery from anyone, much less a common maid." She lowered her knife tentatively.

"So… you're not going to kill me?"

"No, I am," the Phantom assured her and she raised her knife at him again. "But, because I am feeling merciful today, I will allow you your last request." She blinked.

"Really?"

"Would you rather I killed you now?"

"No monsieur, I'll take your offer," she said, sitting down on the steps. She frowned when she realized her notepad was slightly damp. "Do you by any chance have some paper monsieur? Mine's gotten a little wet." The Phantom sighed, before going over by his throne, opening a secret compartment and throwing her a notepad of paper.

"Now get to work," the Phantom ordered and Valentine settled on the stairs and began her work. However, she did not get very far along before she became aware of a presence behind her, and a warm breath on her neck.

"Are you so deprived of company that you are willing to distract me from my work just in order to keep me here longer?" she questioned.

"Don't flatter yourself mademoiselle. I was merely observing your work," the Phantom shot back.

"It's Valentine, and you can observe my work all you want when I'm dead." The Phantom looked at her curiously. This girl was perhaps one of the strangest people he'd never met. She held no apparent fear of him and had stared defiantly back into his eyes, not even seeming to take notice of his mask, which drew people's attention more often than not.

"You don't fear death Miss Valentine?" he inquired. She shrugged, not looking up form her work.

"Not particularly. People like us don't last long in the world. We make a mark, however large or small, and then we die, though if we are lucky, our work lives on. Look at Mozart. Died penniless and is still one of the greats."

"'People like us'?" the Phantom echoed, confused at his inclusion. Valentine smiled and looked up at him.

"I figured from the organ your are a musician, and likely a composer too," gesturing to the instrument and sheet music scattered around it. The phantom looked her over again.

"You are much more intelligent than I thought." She smirked at him.

"I was intelligent enough to find this place, wasn't I? Then again, poor Lorraine has trouble seeing anything in front of her face, so it makes sense she never found the latch."

"Enough talk, finish your work," the Phantom ordered, turning back to his organ.

"You started it," Valentine pointed out, but continued anyway. It seemed as though she went on sketching for hours upon hours, her pencil gliding, swirling, and dusting across the page, and it was only when the pangs of hunger began to affect her stomach did she realize that she wouldn't be able to do this in one sitting. "Monsieur, it's getting late, people will begin to look for me, and I'm not entirely sure I properly closed the mirror behind me, so if you do not wish to be discovered, I suggest you let me return for the night." The Phantom straightened up at his organ and glared at her.

"What's to stop you from turning me in?"

"And miss the chance to finish my greatest work of art yet?" she pointed out, gesturing to the notepad. He surveyed her for a moment.

"If you do not return to sketch tomorrow–"

"You have my permission to hang me from the chandelier as a warning to all those who may trifle with you," she assured him. He looked her over again, before nodding curtly.

"Very well. I will escort you out." Valentine nodded, and they headed back to the lake, where the Phantom helped her into the gondola and guided it across the glassy dark lake, sending ripples flowing across the water. Once they reached the other side of the lake, Valentine stumbled onto the dock, before turning back to the mysterious man she'd met.

"Well, good night Monsieur le Phantom," Valentine bid him, relighting her candle and making her way up to the surface.

Little did either of them know this was the beginning of a colorful and rather strange relationship.


	2. Those Lovely Nights

**A/N: I meant to upload this on Tuesday but I have been so obscenely busy right now, it's not even funny. Sorry for the delay and please review. I want to know what you guys think.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera, the Phantom's past, or Masquerade.**

Those Lovely Nights

A black haired young woman walked through the halls of the Opera Populaire, barely managing not to get run over by two blonde teens, who were giggling to themselves.

"Watch it brats, or you might take an unfortunate slip," the black haired girl spat threateningly at the younger girls. Unfortunately for her, Lorraine was watching and was not pleased.

However, rather than commenting on it, she simply said, "Nicole, it's your turn to clean Box Five." That promptly caused the black haired girl to go completely white and her eyes to widen in fear.

"What! Why is it mine?" she cried.

"Because Bernadette did it last week," one of the twin blonde maids answered, gesturing to her sister.

"And Bridgette the week before that," the other blonde girl added, waving at her sibling.

"Well, why do you never clean it Lorraine?" Nicole asked defiantly.

"I'm too busy cracking the whip at you girls to have time to do Box Five," replied the brunette older woman, heading out.

"Just be careful, Nicole," Bernadette advised.

"Yeah, remember what happened to Gwendolyn? She left a bit of dust around the corners of the box and the Phantom put something in her bucket when she scrubbed the floors. Nearly burned her hands off," Bridgette reminded her. At this point, the black haired girl was hyperventilating with fear.

"Oh God, please will one of you take it for me? Please? Please?" she pleaded desperately, only met with mischievous smiles.

"You can always ask me Nicole," chimed a voice from being the three, who all turned to find Valentine standing there. Nicole's fear was promptly replaced with disdain.

"What do you want Miss Bride of Frankenstein?" she hissed and the scarred red head merely smiled.

"To make you an offer. I'll clean box five if you give me proper compensation." The dark-haired girl raised an eyebrow.

"What kind of compensation?"

"Twenty cigarettes a month."

"What!"

"Did I mention I'll clean Box Five for the remainder of my employment here?" Valentine added. The other girl bit her lip as she thought it over.

"Come on Nicole!" Bridgette encouraged.

"Yeah, this'll be good for all of us!" Bernadette agreed. Finally, Nicole groaned.

"Fine!" she sighed and brought out her package of cigarettes, but the red head refused to take them.

"And you have to be nice to Bridgette, Bernadette, Lorraine, and all the other maids for the rest of the time I'm employed here," Valentine added.

"WHAT?" Nicole cried indignantly.

"Would you rather get burned hands? Or even the magical lasso?" she reminded the other maid. Looking at the ceiling warily, the other girl finally caved and nodded. Grinning triumphantly, Valentine finally took the cigarettes and mockingly took the dark-haired maid's hand in her own, shaking it enthusiastically.

"Pleasure doing business with you my dear," she remarked, before flouncing off to clean Box Five.

Box Five was favored by the ghost for clear reasons: it was the most beautiful, with its gorgeous carved angels of gold being devoured by disfigured demons, gold seats with red and black velvet cushions, and had the best acoustics, allowing the strings, winds, brass, percussion, chorus, and soloists to blend into each other gloriously. But Valentine's recent encounter with the Phantom himself down in his lair had left her wondering about what other secrets the Opera House held. Therefore, while she was cleaning, she found herself surveying the box and thinking, _There was a passage behind the mirror… I wonder_. And so she began knocking on the walls and, sure enough, the column rang hollow. Running her hands over the surface in hopes of finding some hidden latch or opening, her fingers pressed one of the smaller angel statue's faces into the wall, allowing the column to open. Smiling triumphantly to herself and taking special care to make sure no one was watching, she lit a candle using the nearby gas lamps and headed down yet another passage. She'd been walking for a while when a breeze passed through the passage, blowing her candle out and plunging her into darkness. She smiled as she relit the torch.

"Good day Monsieur le Phantom," she greeted. The Phantom then melted from the shadows into the light of her candle.

"You're back." He sounded a little surprised.

"Oui, Monsieur. One question though, how many passages are there in the Opera House? I just found the one in Box Five, so I'm assuming there's more."

"You didn't tell anyone about my lair." Even more surprised than before. She scoffed.

"Obviously. But honestly, how many passages are there?" she inquired, looking around.

"Dozens. Now shall we?" he asked, stepping to the side to allow her to pass him, which she did, nodding to him as she went.

(Page)

"Would you kindly keep it down? If you keep making that cacophony, I'll die of old age before I finish!" Valentine called heatedly from her place on the floor of his lair as she worked on her sketching.

"That so called cacophony is likely the greatest piece of music you will ever hear," the Phantom shouted right back at his organ.

"Really, because just it sounds like a damn good amount of noise to me."

"It would be wise not to provoke me, Miss Valentine," the ghost grit out. She shrugged.

"I'm already a dead woman, might as well enjoy provoking my executioner." He rolled his eyes at her, but, shockingly, did quiet his music, if minutely. She turned back to her piece, squinting at her sketch as she worked. After a while, she sighed and rubbed her eyes; this wasn't going well.

"Having difficulties still?" the Phantom asked, somewhat mockingly.

"Yes, because artists need a bit of light and you live in a world of near darkness. You know, if you kept a few mirrors around here, you could dramatically increase the amount of light and we could both see our work much more easily," she suggested.

"No. No mirrors," he snapped and she shrugged again.

"Very well." She turned back to her work, realizing that she'd smudged a corner. Sighing sharply, she turned the page to find a rather well done drawing of a lovely brown haired girl who looked to be in her late teens, early twenties at most. She was holding a rose and had her eyes closed.

"Who's this?" she inquired, turning the pad around so he could see. He looked up and she swore he paled. She chuckled and turned the page around again. "Do you have another victim you're keeping from me?" she queried jokingly. He then strode over to her and ripped the book from her hands, gently tearing the sketch from its binds.

"She's a student," he answered shortly. Valentine raised an eyebrow.

"Student?" He nodded. Valentine poked her from between her teeth devilishly. "What's her name?"

"Christine Daae. She's a ballerina."

"So, what, you teach her to pirouette?" Valentine giggled and the Phantom glared at her.

"Sing," he answered before turning his back to her. She shrugged and turned back to her work; she may be on death row but she was going to enjoy the little time she had left.

* * *

><p>"Alright, you've been working on that for almost a week now, you have to have made some progress by now," the Phantom snapped.<p>

"Excuse me Monsieur le Phantom, but how long have you been working on that piece of noise you call music?" Valentine shot back, holding the sketchbook out of his reach.

"Would you rather I knock you out?" he inquired rhetorically and she narrowed her eyes at him but relinquished the pad nonetheless. He looked the artwork over, eyes widening from behind the mask as he did so. She raised an eyebrow at him and he coughed uncomfortably. "I must say… this is… surprisingly good," he admitted. She smiled slightly.

"I could've done better if I'd had more _light_ Monsieur." He scowled at her, silently telling her not to push her luck. She shrugged and went back to work.

"I don't see your name though," the Phantom noted. That confused her.

"What?"

"Your name. Don't artists put their names in the corner of their works?"

"First of all, they do that _last_ and I am not yet done. Secondly… I can't write."

"Figures," the Phantom scoffed, making Valentine glower at him. It wasn't her fault she wasn't born into a world of riches and frivolity where they threw away money like she threw away failed sketches.

Still, it did bug her a bit, prompting her to ask, "Maybe you could teach me to write?"

"What?" It was the Phantom's turn to be shocked.

"Teach me. Like you do with Christine." He narrowed his eyes behind the mask.

"_Christine_ is an angel of music who simply needs my guidance to help her take her rightful place as Prima Donna. _You_ are an annoying gutter rat who is soon going to find her neck in a Punjab lasso."

"Alright then fine," Valentine spat, turning furiously back to her work. But her mind kept wandering back to the topic they'd just discussed. She wasn't dumb enough to think him an actual ghost now that she'd met him, but if he was a man, who was he? "What's your name?" she asked suddenly. "I beg your pardon?" he asked.

"Your name. What is it?"

"Why would you want to know?"

"Because I spend almost everyday down here sketching while you bang that damn organ and yet I don't even know your name. And before you say anything, it's not like I'm going to be able to tell anyone. I'd probably get arrested for 'helping an extortionist' or something of that nature. That or the Asylum. Either way, telling anyone doesn't work out in my favor." He hesitated, pursing his lips, before looking at her again.

"When I was a man, if I was ever even considered one, I went by the name of Erik."

"Erik," she echoed, the letters and syllables rolling of her tongue as she tried it out. She nodded. "It suits you." She moved back to her work, but was stopped by the sound of his voice.

"What about you Miss Valentine? No last name?" he inquired. She looked away.

"Don't know my mother's and I don't go by my father's," she replied shortly.

"Why?" The glare she directed at him burned with the fury of a raging bonfire.

"None of your business." He narrowed his eyes at her.

"Considering you spend almost everyday down here sketching my lair, I think I have a right to know who you are," he mocked, using some of her words against her. "Besides, I'll need to know what to put on your gravestone." Her glare somehow managed to intensify, but when she thought about, if she was going to tell anyone, a ghost would be the best choice. Dead men tell no tales after all. And it was an opportunity to get it off her chest without the chance of her past destroying her future. So she set aside her sketchpad and patted the steps next to her, signaling him to sit next to her. He obeyed.

"It was years ago," she began. "There was a man and his daughter who lived in a terrible part of town: Full of drunks, whores, thieves, and… murderers. And the man… hurt his daughter… beat her… gave her terrible scars…" "Scars?" he asked, somewhat rhetorically. "Terrible ones monsieur. Great ones, barely noticeable ones, ones on her body."

"Ones on her face," he caught on. "And ones that are not on the surface, monsieur. He used and abused her for many years, never caring for her like a father should. **A drunken scoundrel… more monster than man,**" she ground out, remembering his biting words and the cuts he'd given her for putting one hair out of line. She clenched her fists, closed her eyes, and let out a shaky breath. "And then… he was murdered. His daughter was nowhere to be found. **They never found her. It was said she had died…"**"But she didn't die, did she?" he said and she looked down as she nodded. **"The world forgot her, but I never can… For in this darkness, I live with blood on my hands."****"And so you murdered a man…" **he murmured behind her. She looked up from her hands to face him.

"No one's ever really cared about me. Even the other maids, we're coworkers, but we hardly know each other outside of work and they don't see things the way I do. They're blind." And for the first time in her life, Valentine saw something in his eyes that she thought she would never see: understanding.

* * *

><p>After telling him about herself and her past, Valentine and the Phantom's relationship had progressed strangely and yet wonderfully all the same. He had showed her the network of passages that ran through out the Opera House, taught her how to read and write, and even invited her to join him in Box Five for opera performances. Which led to them hiding within the walls of the Opera Populaire, watching the performers and socialites below celebrate the yearly masquerade.<p>

"**Masquerade! Paper faces on parade! Masquerade! Hide your face so the world will never find you! Masquerade! Every face a different shade! Masquerade! Look around, there's another mask behind you," **they sang, dancing around in their bright, vibrant costumes.

"Do you think you'll ever go down there?" Valentine inquired.

"Too risky. What if someone should become curious and snatch away my mask?" he replied. She shrugged.

"You can't be an artist without taking any risks, and considering the number _Don Juan Triumphant_ takes, I'm surprised you haven't taken this one."

"Well I'm surprised you aren't enjoying the party with your coworkers," he noted. She scoffed.

"What's there to enjoy? It's a drunken disarray of crude dancing, with too many people, too close together. No class whatsoever. The few times I went, I had to introduce several men to my knife to get them to leave me be."

"Why not go to the party for the patrons and performers?" At this point, she was full blown laughing at the Phantom's questions.

"Even if I could manage to snag an invitation, I'd have nothing to wear."

"You steal costumes for our Opera nights in Box 5," he reminded her and she shoved him, much to his amusement.

"_Borrow_ and that's different. No one other than you sees me, and if I borrow a costume to wear to the masquerade, I'm bound to be recognized."

"But you want to go," he noticed. She turned from her view of the performers to him.

"You know what it's like to be judged on appearances. For one night, just one night… I'd like to feel pretty," she murmured, as she imagined it. Being a mysterious beauty, appearing once at the ball before vanishing forever. **"A Lovely night, a lovely night, a finer night you know you'll never see," **she sang softly to herself, though the Phantom could hear her. **"You fall in love, **_**truly**_** in love, as truly as in love as you could be." **She stood and looked at the window the offered them a view of a gorgeous Paris winter night. **"The stars in a hazy heaven, tremble above you, while he's whispering, 'Darling I love you,'" **she dreamed, closing her eyes as she imagined it. **"You say goodbye, away you fly, but on your lips you keep a kiss, all your life you'll dream of this lovely, lovely night." **She dragged the Phantom to his feet and into position for dancing, but rather than shake her off like she expected, he laughed and played along.**"A Lovely night, a lovely night, a finer night you know you'll never see!" **the Phantom sang, leading her around like one of the dancers below.**"You fall," **she crooned.**"In love," **he added.**"**_**Truly**_**–"**

"**In love."****"As truly as in love as you could be," **she finished. **"The stars in a hazy heaven."**

"**Tremble above you," **he said, twirling her.**"While he's whispering," **she murmured.**"'Darling I love you,'" **he serenaded as he dipped her.

"**You say goodbye, away you fly,"** she said, separating from him once he righted her and extending her arms like the ballerinas did when playing birds in Tchaikovsky's _Swan Lake_.**"But on your lips you keep a kiss," **he smiled.**"All your life you'll dream of this, lovely!" **she chimed.**"Lovely!" **he mirrored.**"Lovely!"****"Lovely night!" **they sang together, finishing their piece. The red headed young woman giggled as she sat down, well worn out by their dance, while the Phantom just sat back in his seat.

"Well that was… entertaining," the Phantom muttered.

"Oh you had fun, admit it!" Valentine teased.

"It was… enjoyable," he avoided, enjoying the sigh of frustration he extracted from her.

"And you're hopeless." She shook her head as he smirked at her, before he turned back to look out at the crowd below. She moved closer to him in hopes of finding what he was looking for. "Looking for someone? Maybe a certain student of yours?" He nodded and pointed to a brunette in a blue saloon girl dress next to a blonde in an angel costume.

"There. Right down there, next to Madame Giry and her daughter. That's her." Valentine looked Christine over and raised an eyebrow.

"Your Christine. The saloon girl?" she asked incredulously. He frowned as he noticed her costume.

"I'm assuming Miss Giry convinced her to wear that. She's usually very modest and shy," he explained.

"Jealous?" she prodded good-naturedly.

"She's just a student," he maintained, though there was a noticeable blush on the exposed portion of his face.

"At the moment. But she's very pretty and besides, what a pair you two would make, '_the Phantom of the Opera and his Angel of Music_.'" He shoved her playfully but couldn't help but smile at her teasing. They went back to watching the performers and higher society fops twirl about the dance floor like leaves or flower petals spinning on a breeze.

"Do you only sketch, Valentine?" he asked her suddenly. She blinked and looked at him oddly at the sudden question.

"No. Actually I prefer to paint," she responded.

"And do you think that you're better with paints?" he pried further. She smiled slyly.

"I'd say so." He straightened up, looking more like a businessman than the Phantom of the Opera.

"In that case, how would you like to try your hand at painting my 'hidden heaven?'" he proposed, making her grin from ear to ear.

"It would be my honor Monsieur le Phantom," Valentine smiled, bowing to the Phantom of the Opera, who bowed back. They then turned back to their view of the outside world, content to watch the festivities from their place in the shadows.

* * *

><p>That night, as she packed her paints and canvas for tomorrow back in her apartment, she found herself thinking back to the two of them dancing, the way he held her, how his body felt against her own, and the way her heart had raced. It was a feeling she was unfamiliar with, yet from what she'd heard, it sounded like…<p>

She frowned.

_No, tha–that couldn't possibly be it_, she assured herself. She couldn't possibly have… _feelings _for the phantom… could she?


	3. The Beauty of the Night

**A/N: Many thanks to RedDeathLvr for being my first reviewer. Hope some more will follow soon.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Phantom of the Opera, "Beauty Underneath," "Music of the Night," or "I'm Not that Girl."**

The Beauty of the Night

Valentine soon found herself spending much of her time (and every possible moment of work time she could get away with) down in the Phantom's lair, him with his music, her with her sketches and paintings. Occasionally the two would poke fun at each others' work, enjoying seeing the other sigh and glare in frustration.

"What is that? That is not art, that is you making a mess of a perfectly good canvas," the Phantom commented the first day he took a good look at her work. She gave an exasperated sigh and rounded on him.

"You really don't understand impressionism, do you?"

"What's impressionism?" Well that explained it. She raised an eyebrow.

"How long has it been since you left the Opera House Monsieur?" He blinked at her. She sighed again and rolled her eyes, having translated that from phantom speak to mean 'what is outside of the Opera House that is of use to me?' "To summarize, it's not like traditional painting. It's about portraying what you see, not what's really there."

"Well I think it's rubbish," he scoffed.

"And I think your Don Juan Triumphant is mostly just a bunch of noise, but you don't listen to me, why should I listen to you?" she smiled at him, much to his annoyance. And for a while there was silence.

"I just don't understand you," the Phantom admitted. Valentine's head shot up.

"What do you mean?"

"How can you see such beauty in darkness deep as hell?" he asked, gesturing to the candles and dark still waters. She smiled sadly before putting down her materials, hurrying over to him, and pulling him to his feet. She then hurried back over to her case and pulled out two vials of liquid and handed one to him. He furrowed his brow. "What's this?"

"Something to help me illustrate," was all she said. His frown deepened and he raised an eyebrow.

"Are you certain this is safe?" She mimicked his gesture.

"I've been doing this for years and I'm fine." He didn't look convinced, but downed it with her anyway. Suddenly, the darkness he'd known so well exploded into color. The lake was every shade of blue imaginable, along with yellow and orange streaks of candlelight dancing across the waters. He then turned to the woman who'd made him see this and there she was, dressed in a luxurious ball gown of blue and black shimmering fabric with sparkling gems inlaid in the fabric like stars and a crescent crown like the moon.

"**Have you ever yearned to go, past the world you think you know? Been enthralled to the call of the beauty underneath? Have you let it draw you in, past the place where dreams begin?" **she asked, making stars appear in the roof of his cave with a wave of her hand. "**Felt the full breathless pull, of the beauty underneath? When the dark unfolds its wings, do you sense the strangest things? Things no one would ever guess, things mere words cannot express?"**

"**Yes?" **he replied uncertainly, so confused by the turn of events. She grinned and pulled him closer to the water's edge.

"**Do you find yourself beguiled, by the dangerous and wild? Do you feed on the need, for the beauty underneath? Have you felt your senses surge and surrendered to the urge?" **she inquired.** "Have been hooked as you looked at the beauty underneath? When you stare behind the night, can you glimpse its primal might? Might you hunger to possess? Hunger that you can't repress?"**

"**Yes****,****" **he responded, more surely this time, now twirling around to see the display. **"It's all so beautiful. So strange yet beautiful. Such an entrancing array****.****"**

"**And he's so beautiful. Perhaps too beautiful," **she hesitated, clutching her heart as her it pounded in her chest.** "What I suspect can't be real****.**** And yet somehow, we both feel****,**** the very same way." **The Phantom hurried back over to her and took her hands in his.

"**Are there sights inside your head? Have you followed where they led? And been graced with a taste, of the beauty underneath? Does it fill your every sense? Is it terribly intense? Tell me you need it too, need the beauty underneath****,****" **he pleaded as she nodded enthusiastically.

"**When it lifts its voice and sings, don't you feel amazing things? Things you know you can't confess. Things you thirst for nonetheless****,****" **they sang together, dancing amongst the stars and clouds in their lovely fantasy.

"**It's all so beautiful****,****" **he gasped, breaking away from her.

"Can it be?" she asked herself.

"**Almost too beautiful."**

"**Do you see what I see?" **they questioned each other.

"Heavenly,"he sighed.

"**To him it's beautiful. My world is beautiful****,****" **she celebrated, twirling from bliss coursing through her veins.

"**How can this be what it seems?"**

"**All of my most secret dreams, somehow set free****,****" **they exclaimed. Her mind was racing like a shooting star. Could he see it… _understand_ it now? The two began chasing each other playfully across the misty clouds, reaching out to touch the stars and moon.

"**You can **_**feel**_** it," **she encouraged.

"**Yes," **he agreed.

"**Pulling you **_**closer**_**."**

"**Yes."**

"**You've no fear of the beauty underneath. You **_**relish**_** it."**

"**Yes."**

"_**Revel**_** in it."**

"**Yes."**

"**You see through to the beauty underneath. To the splendor****,****" **she called, dragging him toward a star and showing it.

"**Splendor," **he mirrored, reaching out to feel its warmth.

"**And the glory."**

"**And the glory."**

"**To the truth of the beauty underneath."**

"**The beauty underneath."**

"**You accept it****.****"**

"**Yes."**

"**You embrace it****.****"**

"**Yes."**

"**Let me show you the beauty underneath," **she said, separating from him and hurrying over to her things. **"To the **_**splendor**_**.****"**

"_**Splendor**_**,****" **he echoed.

"**And the **_**glory**_**.****"**

"**And the **_**glory**_**."**

"**To the truth of the beauty underneath****.****"**

"**The beauty underneath."**

"**You **_**accept**_** it****,****" **she encouraged, picking up her sketchpad and flipping through it to the piece she'd been working on lately.

"**Yes."**

"**You **_**embrace**_** it****,****" **she asked one more time, for reassurance, dancing to him.

"**Yes."**

"**Let me show you the beauty under–"** Valentine's song was abruptly cut off by her tripping over the hem of her dress as she spun about, causing her to fall into the waters of the lake with an, "AH!" She resurfaced, having managed to save her notepad by keeping it above the water, and looked up to see the Phantom almost _laughing_ at her. "Oh shut up," she blushed, splashing him in the face and wadding out of the water, pad held high over her head in her hand, the illusion well and truly broken.

"I must say that you are perhaps the least graceful human being I've ever met, Valentine," the Phantom remarked through his chuckles.

"Considering how many human beings you've probably met, that's not saying much," she said, twisting excess water from her skirt back into the lake. She shook her arms, sending water flying every which way. "Do you by chance have anything I can change into?" He nodded and led her further into his lair, past models of the stage of the opera house and the sets and the performers to a room full of trunks. He threw one open and brought out a slim lacey black dress with a fitted bodice that looked about her size. Moving outside the curtain, he allowed her to change in privacy.

"Should I be worried as to why you have clothes made for a woman down here?" she called as she slipped the dress on. Surprisingly, it fit perfectly.

"They're costumes I borrowed to get an idea of what the designs for my operas' should be like," he snapped. She shrugged in response.

"Alright then." She pushed back the curtain and stepped out to face the Phantom, who raised an eyebrow and nodded. She smiled and followed him back out to the main area.

"Well, I showed you my world. Your turn," she said, stepping back and motioning to him.

"Very well." The Phantom paused for a moment, straightening his suit and collecting himself, before he began.

"**Nighttime sharpens, heightens each sensation. Darkness stirs and wakes imagination. Silently the senses abandon their defenses." **And like the snow and ice melting away on the first day of spring, Valentine felt her walls collapse, the music filling her very soul, as the Phantom moved closer.

"**Slowly, gently night unfurls its splendor. Grasp it, sense it, tremulous and tender. Turn your face away from the garish light of day," **he instructed, gently nudging her face away from him.** "Turn your thoughts away from cold unfeeling light." **He turned her face back toward him, her staring at him through heavy lidded eyes.** "And listen to the music of the night."**

"**Close your eyes and surrender to your darkest dreams. Purge your thoughts of the life you knew before. Close your eyes. Let your spirit start to soar," **he said, drawing her downturned face up like a puppet master and his marionette, leaving her breathless as she felt the wings grow from her back and carry her far away from her troubles and worries. **"And you'll live as you've never lived before****.****" **She looked at him through her lashes and sighed contentedly as he circled her.

"**Softly, deftly, music shall caress you," **he said, gloved fingers ghosting over her shoulders. **"Hear it, feel it, secretly possess you. Open up your mind; let your fantasies unwind, in this darkness, which you know you cannot fight: The darkness of the music of the night****.****"**

"**Let your mind start a journey to a strange new world. Leave all thoughts of the life you knew before****.**** Let your soul take you where you long to be****,****" **he directed her, as she felt his music set her free. **"Only then can you begin to see****,****" **he said as she melted into his arms.

"**Floating, falling, sweet intoxication; touch it, trust it, savor each sensation,"** he enunciated, leading her around like they were dancing on the clouds above Paris.** "Let the dream begin, let your darker side give in****,**** to the power of the music that I write: The power of the music of the night****.****" **He snapped and she awoke as thought form a trance. She then smiled and wrapped her arms around her neck, well and truly enlightened. He returned the gesture, somewhat unsurely. When she finally released him, he rubbed her arms and smiled at her.

"**You alone can understand my plight," **he admitted, gazing across the dark still waters that he could now see as beautiful thanks to her. He turned back to her and took her hand in his. **"Help me make the music of the night****.****"**

It was in that moment that Valentine realized that she had fallen in love with the Phantom of the Opera.

* * *

><p><em>You can't love him… you can't love him… you can't love him<em>, Valentine kept telling herself. She'd been watching herself in the mirror for what felt like hours, repeating her mantra like a prayer. _He's the Phantom of the Opera. He's an extortionist, and a vandal, and has threatened to kill you on multiple occasions. You can't love him._

_But I do, _cried that one hopeful little voice in her head._ He may be dangerous, but I'm not exactly helpless am I? And have I ever heard such beauty? He hears music like I see art. I've never met anyone like that. And who am I to deny myself happiness?_

_How do you know he feels the same way about you? What are you to him? A poor, pitiful, disfigured maid with a paintbrush? He's a genius in everything he does and you can't even write your own name,_ said a voice in her head that sounded much like her father's. Valentine groaned and leaned her forehead against the dusty glass. This was going to be the death of her, she knew it.

* * *

><p>"Monsieur le Phantom, is something wrong?" Valentine asked one day. He had been so distractible since she'd arrived, knocking over candles and his compositions and his music was even more cacophonous than usual, as though the music was eluding him for some reason.<p>

"Yes… I mean, no… I… I don't know," he stammered and that's when Valentine knew something was wrong because the Phantom. Never. Stammered. He exhaled slowly and tiredly, rubbing his temple to ward off the coming migraine. "You see, I think I'm in love." Her heart skipped a beat. Could it be? Could it be she? Dare she dream to believe he could see?

"Really?" she inquired breathlessly. He nodded. She couldn't stop herself from smiling. "That's wonderful! Who is she?"

"She's young, much younger than me, but beautiful, kind, and has been close to me for a while now," he admitted.

"Are you going to tell her?" she pried.

"Soon. I want it to be perfect." The poor man was wringing his hands now from fear.

"I'm sure it will be," she assured him.

"That's why I need your help. I need you to help me woo her."

"She must be very important to you," she whispered.

"Yes. I must have her. Christine is my heart and soul and I cannot live without her." Valentine froze. Wait… what… had he just said?

"Christine," she echoed, using up the little air that had remained in her lungs at that exclamation. "Christine… Daae. Your student."

"My angel of music," he sighed, grinning as though decades of abuse and loneliness had been wiped away.

"Oh," Valentine replied as well as she could after having felt like she'd received one of her father's beatings… only worse, as this one was internal and seemed to be suffocating her. _What did you think he was going to say, you silly little girl?_ asked a voice in her head that sounded much like her father's. _That he loved _you_, a scarred simpleton who couldn't sing or play an instrument if her life depended on it? _She rubbed her forehead to rid herself of the unwanted thoughts. There would be a time for that, and it was not when she was in the presence of the Phantom. An ungloved hand gripped her own and Valentine's head shot up to face Erik's hopeful beam.

"So what do you say? Will you help me?" he asked, the tiniest hint of desperation clinging to his voice. So Valentine swallowed her churning stomach and gave the man she loved a simper.

"Of course I'll help you," she promised him and his grin somehow widened.

"Thank you." He took a deep breath and straightened up, buttoning his waistcoat. "Now, suggestions?" She nodded and mulled it over for a moment before she began.

"When you're ready to reveal yourself to her, bring her down here. Sing 'Music of the Night' to her; it's one of your best, if not your best piece." He frowned. "Apart from Don Juan Triumphant, of course," she reassured him and the smile returned. He squeezed her hand and bent down to brush his lips against it.

"Thank you Valentine. Christine will adore this. Have a good night," he wished her, bowing slightly. She gave a curtsey back, hand still burning from the contact.

"You too Monsieur," she murmured in the midst of her high, barely managing to gather her things and travel up the stairs to the surface world.

The daze the contact had left her in carried her outside beneath the starlit sky. She admired the bright lights above as she rubbed the hand he had held… had kissed. _**Hands touch, eyes meet, sudden silence, sudden heat. **_She closed her eyes and focused on her heart still heavily pounding in her chest._** Heart leaps in a giddy whirl. He could be that boy. **_She stopped short and opened her eyes._** But I'm not that girl.**_

_**Don't dream too far. Don't lose sight of who you are, **_she reprimanded herself as she caught sight of her reflection in the puddles in the street._** Don't remember that rush of joy. He could be that boy. I'm not that girl.**_

_**Ev'ry so often we long to steal, to the land of what-might-have-been, **_she lamented, thinking back to dreams of having her work displayed alongside the greatest artists in the world and, before that, of someone coming to take her away from the nightmare of life with her father._** But that doesn't soften the ache we feel, when reality sets back in, **_she noted mournfully. Her mind then turned to the gorgeous sketch of Christine Daae she'd seen, as well as the glimpse of her at the masquerade.

_**Blithe smile, lithe limb, she who's winsome, she wins him, **_she thought as images of the Phantom wooing his Angel filled her mind._** Brown hair with a gentle curl. That's the girl he chose. And Heaven knows… I'm not that girl, **_she mourned, picking at her straggly red hair with her thing fingers at the end of gangly limbs.

She glanced up at the starry night sky of Paris and briefly thought back to when she was a little girl, how she used to wish on the stars for someone to take her away from her horrible father and love her like she'd always wanted. She shook her head. _**Don't wish. Don't start. Wishing only wounds the heart, **_she told herself, as she climbed the steps to and opened the door to her apartment. She looked into the cracked and dusty mirror._**I wasn't born for the rose and the pearl. There's a girl I know… **_She smiled as she imagined what it would be like to be loved by the one you love._** He loves her so… **_The smiled faded and she sunk down onto her bed, wrapping herself in the sheet as she reality consumed her. _**I'm not that girl… **_A single tear cascaded down her cheek as she closed her eyes.


	4. Think of Me

**A/N: This and the next chapter will be semi-filler chapters, just warning you now. But I think I did an ok writing them so hope you enjoy and please review! Thanks to DeadAndLovely and RedDeathLvr for doing so, you guys make my day! :D  
><strong>

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Phantom of the Opera, "Think of Me," or "All I Ask of You (Reprise)."**

Act II: Think of Me

Months passed and Valentine had a harder time deciding which was the worse hell to be put through: helping the Phantom in his plans to seduce Christine Daae, which included her spending one hundred eighty hours sewing the soprano's wedding dress by hand (and yes – she had counted), each stitch feeling like a stab to the side that was slowly but surely getting closer to her heart, or listening to Carlotta and Piangi slaughter the score to Hannibal. Emotionally and mentally, the helping-the-Phantom-in-his-plans-to-seduce-Christine-Daae was worse, though the physical pain of Valentine almost having her eardrums blown out again by Carlotta's incessant screeches was giving the mental and emotional toll a run for its money.

Even worse, was that Monsieur Lefevre had introduced the new managers, Messieurs Firmin and Andre, the latter of whom had immediately requested to hear La Carlotta sing Elissa's beautiful aria from Act III, which she butchered every time. Thinking quickly as she cleaned the rows upon rows of seats with the other maids, Valentine stuffed cotton in her ears to block out the noise, causing Lorraine to shake her head as she passed, mouthing something that looked like, _You're going to get fired if you keep that up_. The redhead shrugged in reply as Carlotta croaked, **"Think of me, think of me fondly, when we've said goodbye. Remember me, once in a while - please promise me you'll try. On that day, that not so distant day, when you are far away and free - if you ever find a moment, spare a thought for me."**

_Oh for the love of God, someone please shut her up!_ she thought pressing the cotton further into her eardrums and as though an angel of mercy and music had heard her, a backdrop fell from the flies, promptly ceasing the torture and sending the performers into a flurry of chaos and fear. _Thank you Monsieur le Phantom_. Of course, everyone other than her was scared out of their wits, crying out, **"The Phantom of the Opera! He's here: the Phantom of the Opera!" **Valentine laughing to herself as they scattered. Furious at the Phantom having appeared again, Monsieur Lefevre thought quickly and called,"Buquet! Where is Buquet? Get that man down here! Chief of the flies. He's responsible for this. Buquet! For God's sake, man, what's going on up there?"  
>"<strong>Please monsieur don't look at me<strong>," Buquet defended himself, calling from the catwalks above. "**As God's my witness, I was not at my post. Please monsieur there's no one there: and if there is, well then, it must be a ghost**," he smiled.

Of course, the theater immediately descended into madness once again and started shouting, **"He's here; the Phantom of the Opera!" **whilst the managers attempted to regain control of 'their' theater, assuring La Carlotta that, "These things do happen."

Valentine snorted. _Of course they do, idiots. That's what happens when you tangle with the Phantom of the Opera. _

And apparently La Carlotta was thinking along those lines, for she smiled sinisterly before shouting, "You have been here five minutes, what do you know? Si! These things do 'appen! Well, until you stop these things 'appening, this thing does not 'appen! Ubaldo! Andiamo!"

With that, the Prima Donna and her entourage stormed away, Piangi shouting, "Amateurs!" as he followed his lover off stage.

Monsieur Lefevre quickly followed, telling the managers, "I don't think there's much more to assist you with, gentlemen. Good luck. If you need me, I shall be in Frankfurt." Valentine chuckled to herself again as the managers attempted to regain control of the situation, Madame Giry noting their lack of experience. The ballet mistress then relayed the message from the Opera Ghost, with the usual demands: Box Five and salary. The idiots had the nerve to laugh at that. _They're not going to last long, are they?_ Valentine thought, amusement mounting as they unwisely brushed off the ballet mistress and started to focus on the lack of Prima Donna. That is, until one of the ballerinas said, "Christine Daae could sing it, sir." Valentine froze. Christine. Christine Daae. Erik's protégé and angel of music. His soul mate and one true love. Valentine closed her eyes as Christine came forward. Oh god, this was it. Once she was Prima Donna, Erik would make his move… and all hope she had of stealing his heart would be lost.

**"Think of me, think of me fondly, when we've said goodbye. Remember me, once in a while - please promise me you'll try," **Christine began, as timid as a mouse. Valentine raised an eyebrow; maybe there was hope yet; maybe the Phantom's darling Christine would let him down. But, of course, the beautiful, innocent, and young Christine Daae found the courage to show off her talented voice.** "On that day, that not so distant day, when you are far away and free - if you ever find a moment, spare a thought for me."**

* * *

><p>"<strong>And though it's clear, though it was always clear, that this was never meant to be,<strong>** if you'll ever find a moment, stop, and think of me****. Think of August when the world was green. Don't think about the way things might have been…**** Think of me, think of me waking, silent and resigned. Imagine me trying too hard to put you from my mind. Think of me, please say you'll think of me, whatever else you choose to do. There will never be a day when I won't think of you!" **Christine sang her heart out with the voice and face of an angel as the audience shook the rafters with their applause. Everyone adored her, especially the man in the mask sitting next to Valentine in the secret compartment of Box Five. She hadn't really wanted to come, but knew it would've been rude and suspicious if she had refused to see all of Erik's hard work pay off. And pay off, it did.

"**Can it be? Can it be Christine?" **Valentine thought to herself as one idiot shouted, "Brava! Brava!"** "Oh mon dieu, **_**J**__**ésus**__** doux**_**,**** oh mon dieu! How could I win when against her?" **Valentine wondered, as she glanced at the man in the mask sitting next to her, who looked happier than she'd ever seen him.** "I may want his heart, but it is clear who he prefers."**

"**Flowers fade, the fruits of summer fade, they have their seasons, so do we.**  
><strong>But please promise me that sometimes, you will think… of… of… of… of me!" <strong>Christine belted out and as she ended, the crowd erupted into applause. Erik smiled as he stood and clapped, and the moment the curtain fell he quickly made his way to the exit.

"**I must go. She'll wonder where I am," **he explained.** "Have a good night Valentine."**

_**Monsieur I love you**_**, **Valentine thought to herself, but didn't say. Instead, she helped the man she loved straighten his clothes, saying,** "Go and greet your angel, show her your world of night, and soon, she'll be beside you, solitude is far behind you." **He smiled and bid her farewell, vanishing into the night, leaving Valentine in the box. She slumped in her chair, dejectedly.** "I gave him my spirit, I gave him everything, and now, look how it's paid me: Heartache, pain, and tragedy." **She gave half-sob, half laugh. **"He was bound to love her, when he heard her sing." **She covered her mouth to stifle her bawling. She had nothing but her art now, and even then, she couldn't work without thinking of him. Slowly, she got up to leave, only too look back at the curtain behind which Miss Daae was surely falling for the Phantom of the Opera.** "You alone can make his song take flight," **Valentine lamented, wrapping her cloak closer around her as she thought of the beautiful, talented, innocent Christine Daae. **"Help him make the music of the night."**


	5. Notes

**A/N: Another kind of filler chapter. Thank you to everyone who has reviewed, followed, and favorited so far. It means a lot to me.**

**And DeadAndLovely, I'm sorry, but it's only going to get worse. Trust me on that.  
><strong>

**Also, glass-bottles asked about Valentine interacting with Christine, Raoul, and Madame Giry; I will have a Christine scene next chapter, but she will not ever speak with Raoul, as maids and Vicomtes generally do not mix. I did write a scene in which Valentine meets Madame Giry but didn't include it as it didn't really do anything for the plot. Review or PM me if you want me to post it or PM it to you. Anyway, hope you enjoy, please review, and thanks for reading!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own _The Phantom of the Opera_, "Notes," "Prima Donna," or "Magical Lasso."**

Notes

Of course, it was back to work the very next day. Back to scrubbing floors and trying to make sure she didn't shout at everyone who tread on the spots she'd just scrubbed. Of course, this also allowed her to help inform the Phantom of the happenings in the opera house. Specifically, how the new managers reacted to the Opera Ghost's demands. Apparently, the mangers thought the Phantom was nothing more than a rumor and as such seem to be determined to ignore him and his notes, causing Valentine to roll her eyes at their incompetence. _You'd think Monsieur Lefevre would've told them not to trifle with him_, she noted. _I suppose he didn't want to scare them off like the Phantom scared him off._ _But honestly, _I_ could run the Opera Populaire better than these buffoons_.

And then came the Vicomte.

"**Where is she?" **cried Raoul, le Vicomte de Changy, storming in across the maid's freshly mopped marble floor.  
><em>Lovely now I'll have to redo that spot<em>, Valentine sighed internally as she restarted to scrub the spot. Le Vicomte then started raging about the Phantom's note warning him to stay away from Christine, which he though was from the managers, causing everyone (except Valentine of course) considerable confusion.

And then came la Prima Donna

"**Where is he?" **Carlotta screeched, as she and Piangi tore across the floor.

_Really? Again? Mon dieu, again!_ Valentine exclaimed internally, though she couldn't help but give them glares as dirty as their shoes.

"**Far too many notes for my taste - and most of them about Christine!" **the managers exclaimed. **"All we've heard since we came is Miss Daae's name."**

_Tell me about it_, Valentine thought, just as two more people walked across her freshly scrubbed floors. _Oh__mon__dieu foutu__, __vous avez à__me faire marcher_, she cursed in her head, about to scream at them, only to stop short when she realized it was Madame Giry and her daughter, thankfully saving her from yelling at the second most feared person in the opera house.

"**Miss Daae has returned," **Madame Giry informed those gathered. Valentine exhaled internally again.

_Dieu merci, now they can calm down,_ she thought. But no, it turned out the ballet mistress had another note from the Phantom, which almost everyone gathered almost trampled each other in hopes of getting it first, only for Monsieur Firmin to grab it.

**"'Gentlemen, I have now sent you several notes of the most amiable nature, detailing how my theatre is to be run,'" **Firmin read. He frowned.** "'You have **_**not**_** followed my instructions. I shall give you one last chance…'"**

**"Christine Daae has returned to you, and I am anxious her career should progress," **Valentine imagined the Phantom's angelic voice reading his own work.** "In the new production of "Il Muto", you will therefore cast **_**Carlotta**_** as the **_**Pageboy**_**, and put Miss Daae in the role of Countess. The role which Miss Daae plays calls for charm and appeal. The role of the Pageboy is silent – which makes my casting, in a word **_**ideal**_**. **I shall watch the performance from my normal seat in Box Five, which will be kept empty for me. Should these commands be ignored, a disaster beyond your imagination will occur."

"'I remain, Gentlemen, Your obedient servant, O.G.'"Firmin finished.

**"Christine. Christine," **little Meg Giry smiled for her friend.

**"Christine!" **Carlotta crowed, and Valentine couldn't help but share la Prima Donna's sentiments. Always Christine. Soon the managers were in a flurry, trying to calm down the distraught Opera singer.

**"Miss Daae will be playing the Pageboy – the silent role," **they assured her.

**"Carlotta will be playing the lead!"** the managers declared together. As Piangi and Carlotta milked the offer for all it was worth, Valentine realized she wasn't going to get any work done and so she might as well scram and make use of the time and come back later. So she headed for and opened the nearest entrance to the Phantom's lair, hidden backstage. This one was a false wall that moved when a stone was pressed just the right way, and led directly down to the Phantom's lair, though this path was laden with extra traps (which she knew all the bypasses to).  
>"Ooo, what do we have here?" a voice behind her said. Valentine stiffened and shot a dirty glare at the stagehand that had caught her.<p>

"Shut it Buquet," she snapped and moved to go inside, but he stopped her.

**"Is someone going to see the ghost? Naughty miss, I'd hate for you to be caught," **he leered. She ducked under his arm in hopes of escaping, only for him to throw her against the wall. **"Not so fast, dear mademoiselle, or I'll give you away without a second thought**," he said, trailing his hand down her body. Valentine gave him a seductive smile that only a fool would have fallen for. Thankfully, Joseph Buquet was a fool, and so he smiled back and loosened his grip, allowing the red head to begin to hike up her skirt. What he didn't expect was for her to grab the knife on her thigh, push him against the wall, and hold the blade to his neck.

"Have you not been listening to Madame Giry monsieur? '**Those who speak of what they know, find too late, that prudent silence is wise,'" **she quoted, slashing her knife and cutting a loose hair from Buquet's head.** "Joseph Buquet hold your tongue or keep your hand at the level of your eyes**." With that she threw him to the ground and slipped into the passage, locking the deadbolt behind her. She then sprinted all the way down to the Phantom's lair five stories below the Opera House, only stopping to deactivate the traps, to find him pacing the floor of his home.

"Valentine, what–"

"Carlotta's in the lead, Christine's playing the silent role, and I think you'll have to dip into your savings this month because the managers aren't going to pay you a salary," she rushed, almost collapsing from exhaustion/suffocation.

"I know," was all he said.

"You… know?" she panted desperately.

"I invited myself to the managers' meeting."

"Then… what's the point… in making me… rush down here… every time… I hear something… that may affect you?" she wheezed, stomach still cramping due to having just run through the never-ending network of passageways.

"It's amusing." She glared at him. "Besides, you need to earn your education somehow. Speaking of which, how is the book I gave you?" he queried, sitting down. She folded her arms and shrugged.

"Depressing. I mean, it's literally called "The Miserable Ones," what did you expect?"

"If you can read that book, you can read anything, don't complain. How about writing?" Her brow furrowed.

"It feels so odd, it's not like holding a paintbrush."

"You'll get used to it. Now if that's all, please leave. Don't need anyone realizing you're gone." She turned to leave but hesitated. Joseph Buquet knew about the passageway and knew she worked with the Phantom. Should she tell him or take care of it herself? The Phantom, having realized her hesitation, prodded, "Valentine… what else happened?" She sighed and started.

"Joseph Buquet saw me going into a passage. The stone one backstage, the one that's heavy and hard to get in and out of. I sealed the door behind me, so neither he nor anyone should be able to get through, lest they have something along the lines of a cannon."

"Nevertheless, he will have to be dealt with," the Phantom noted. Valentine sighed, but nodded, however reluctantly.

"I don't suppose there's any other way. Will you be needing my assistance?"

"Not this time. It would probably be for the best if you stayed in the wings for now, I can't guarantee there won't be some action on opening night. Why don't you go down to the Impressionist Exhibition? I hear Degas is unveiling a new statue," he suggested, rifling through his pockets. Finally, he brought out a single franc and tossed it to her, knowing it would be enough to cover admission. She smiled and turned the coin over in her palm, before she curtseyed.

"Thank you Monsieur, I greatly appreciate the thought," she responded before heading out. She stopped and turned back at the last second. "But please be careful. For your own sake, as well as mine."


	6. Masquerade

**A/N: Ok, and here we are! No more fillers! Anyway, hope you enjoy, please review, and thanks for reading!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the _Phantom of the Opera_, "Masquerade," "Lovely Night (reprise)," "Stranger than you dreamt it," "Twisted Every Way," or "Track Down this Murderer."**

Masquerade

"I still can't believe you dropped the chandelier on Miss Daae," exclaimed Valentine as she added the last adjustments to his "Red Death" Masquerade costume.

"You've been saying that for the past six months," he sighed from under the skull mask, the tiniest bit of his disfiguration visible from the gap between the upper and lower halves of the jaw.

"Because I still can't believe you!" Valentine exhaled in aggravation. "Monsieur le Phantom, you may be the most intelligent human being I have ever met, but you are still hopelessly naïve as to how to deal with women."

"Aren't we all? Ow!" he cried as she 'accidentally' stuck him with a pin.

"_Sorry_," she apologized, not sounding very sorry at all. "Really though, do you try to kill every woman you meet?"

"Only the ones I like," he replied and Valentine stopped and glanced up to see him smirking at her, before she rolled her eyes in an attempt to draw attention away from her blush. It had been a very difficult six months for the both of them. After hearing the Vicomte and Christine's confession of love on the rooftop of the Opera Populaire and after bringing down the chandelier in a rage, the Phantom had thrown himself into his music, which unfortunately tended to make him irritable and volatile whenever Valentine had come down to visit. But while those visits were often stressful and tiresome, they proved necessary, as the Phantom would get so wrapped up in his work that he would forget to eat or sleep. The only reason he eventually did take a break every once in a while was after Valentine had fainted due to being so busy trying to take care of him she forgot to take care of herself. But after six months of exhausting and emotionally trying hard work, the final plot was ready for execution. But the fact that she'd been such an enormous help to him wouldn't stop him poking fun at her, as evidenced by his next comment: "Besides what do you know about love?"

"I think I know more about it than you would think," she scoffed.

"Like?"

"Well, for one, I know that women don't like it when you drop chandeliers on their heads," she smirked and he groaned in annoyance.

"Will you get over that? And I highly doubt you know how to attract the attention of someone who seems to ignore your existence entirely." Oh, how Valentine wanted to jab him with the needle again, so that maybe _he _would take a hint. But that was a little obvious, even for her. So she just made sure the last decorations were in place before standing, back and knees sore from her labor.

"There. Done." The Phantom then straightened up and looked at himself in the only mirror he'd ever kept in his home, hidden behind a curtain until tonight.

"And?" he asked her. She smiled; between the blood red cloth and gold accents, the skull mask, and the stunt he would pull tonight, no one would ever cross him again.

"The Devil himself would be afraid of you in this, Monsieur," she complimented him. He shift from the Opera Ghost back to his normal self.

"But not you," he remarked and she nodded.

"Never." They smiled at each other until she looked away, blushing. He turned back to the mirror. "Well, I'd better be going. It's getting late and you have much to do before you make your appearance."

"Where are you going?" he stopped her.

"Home, where else?" she replied. He quickly moved over to her and took her hand in his, before leading her back to the costume room where she had uncovered the lacey black dress from his stores. He then stood aside, arm braced on the curtain in a dramatic pose, which made Valentine chuckle to herself. Ever the Opera man.

"I thought you would like one night of no judgment, which is why I procured this," he said, peeling back the curtain to reveal a mannequin clad in a gorgeous red and black dress that looked like it would be worn by the entrancing gypsy girl Carmen herself, a veil and fontange atop her delicate head and fan in hand. Valentine stumbled backwards slightly, momentarily perplexed, but Phantom nodded and motioned her forward. The red headed artist finally approached the stunning work of wearable art. The skirt was made up of red layers with black lace trim and the bodice was fitted with beaded sleeves.

"Oh Erik… it's perfect!" she cried, throwing her arms around the Phantom's neck.

"Valentine… what are you doing?" he cried in turn, unsure of what to do.

"I'm hugging you Erik. That's what people do when they are thanking someone they care for," she chuckled through her tears of absolute joy. Finally she released him and murmured "I'm gonna go try this on," still in a daze. Closing the curtain she got to work: cleaning herself as well as she could in the washbasin, dressing herself carefully so as to not wrinkle or in any way alter her outfit, and combing and pinning her hair up in a bun.

"You'd better hurry up, the guests have started to arrive," Erik reminded her from behind the curtain as the time ticked on.

"I'm doing my hair, give me a minute," she stated, carefully placing the last lock and pinning the fontange into her hair. She then pulled back the curtain and revealed herself to the Phantom who smiled and turned her to face the one mirror in his entire lair, currently covered by a blood red curtain.

"Now for the finishing touches," he said, handing her a full white facemask with painted red lips and black accents around her eyeholes. Carefully slipping over her face while trying not to ruin her hair, Valentine turned and uncovered the mirror to take in her appearance. At first she was confused because what she saw the mirror could not be her: she was not a beautiful and mysterious temptress who could easily make any woman jealous and any man desire her. But there she stood, truly resplendent, as the Phantom pinned a rose into her hair. "There. Now, you are a Spanish rose: seductive and beautiful to behold, though with hidden danger in the thorns," he said, patting her thigh where her knife remained strapped… just in case.

_Oh Mon dieu, if it weren't for the fact that your heart belongs to Christine, I would have you against your own organ until you begged God himself to make me stop_, she thought as she looked at him. And she wanted to tell him (well, not exactly that, but you know what she means), while she was still beautiful and capable of showing him that she had value too. But instead she hugged the Phantom again and whispered, "Thank you, Erik." He returned the embrace this time. After they separated he put his hands on her shoulders and said, "Go now and have a good time." She smiled and picked up the black lace fan, before hurrying out of his lair to the world above. The ball had already begun by the time she arrived, but she was just in time to be fashionably late. And did people notice her. Every man without a partner (and a few with one) swarmed around her the moment she entered, wanting a dance with the radiant rose before him. But she could not be so easily swayed and instead found herself teasingly dancing around them like a fandango dancer, as all the partygoers sang, **"Masquerade! Paper faces on parade! Masquerade! Hide your face so the world will never find you! Masquerade! Every face a different shade! Masquerade! Look around, there's another mask behind you. Flash of mauve, Splash of puce, Fool and king, Ghoul and goose. Green and black, Queen and priest, Trace of rouge, Face of beast. Faces! Take your turn, take a ride, on the merry-go-round in an inhuman race. Eye of gold, high of blue. True is false. Who is who? Curl of lip, Swirl of gown, Ace of hearts, Face of clown. Faces! Drink it in, drink it up, till you've drowned, in the light, in the sound."**

"**But who can name the face?" **asked Christine and Raoul, joining in at last, before vanishing into the crowd.  
><strong>"Masquerade! Grinning yellows, spinning reds. Masquerade! Take your fill, let the spectacle astound you. Masquerade! Burning glances, turning heads. Masquerade! Stop and stare at the sea of smiles around you. Masquerade! Seething shadows breathing lies. Masquerade! You can fool any friend who ever knew you. Masquerade! Leering satyrs, peering eyes. Masquerade! Run and hide, but a face will still pursue you."<strong>

And while Valentine was having fun flirting with the folly, she found herself being drawn to the managers and other workers' conversation, as they toasted to six months without the Opera Ghost. The red haired maid smirked; oh, fate did love to be tempted, but those who do not wish misfortune to fall upon themselves should know better than to do such a thing. Knowing that the managers would get what was coming to them, she began to dance around the couple of the hour, Christine Daae and le Vicomte de Changy.

**"Think of it; a secret engagement. Look, your future bride. Just think of it," **sighed Christine as she held up a gargantuan diamond engagement ring on a chain that probably would've paid for Valentine's necessities for the rest of her life.

**"But why is it secret? What have we to hide?" **asked her now fiancé who apparently had learned nothing from the chandelier almost falling on his beloved bride-to-be.

"**You promised me," **Christine sighed angrily.

"**You promised **_**me**_**," **Raoul responded just as furiously.

**"No, Raoul, please don't, they'll see," **ordered the young Prima Donna, looking to the ceiling fearfully.

**"Well then let them see. It's an engagement, not a crime. Christine, what are you afraid of?" **le Vicomte asked gently. Christine just smiled.  
><strong>"Let's not argue," <strong>she said, a sentiment her fiancé echoed.** "(Let's not argue). Please pretend (I can only hope), you will understand in time (I'll understand in time)."**

And so Christine and her Vicomte began to dance with each other, troubles far behind them, as Valentine tried her best to get close to them and snatch away the engagement ring from around Miss Daae's neck. While she resented the fact that it was Christine who held the Phantom's heart and not her, she loved him _more_ and if making him happy meant helping him win over Christine, then so be it. She danced wildly around them, trying again and again to nab that ring, but soon found herself swept up in the crowd heading for the staircase as the finale began.

"**Masquerade! Paper faces on parade. Masquerade! Hide your face so the world will never find you. Masquerade! Every face a different shade. Masquerade! Look around, there's another mask behind you," **they sang, dancing around in their bright, vibrant costumes. **"Masquerade! Burning glances, turning heads. Masquerade! Stop and stare at the sea of smiles around you. Masquerade! Grinning yellows, spinning reds. Masquerade! Take your fill, let the spectacle astound you." **Everyone suddenly froze as a cold breeze swept through the hall, flickering the candles and chilling everyone to the bone. Almost afraid to face the cause of such a disturbance, the crowd slowly turned to face Red Death himself in the form of the Phantom of the Opera.

**"Why so silent, good messieurs? Did you think that I had left you for good?" **he asked mockingly, the skull mask's jaw moving up and down with every word. **"Have you missed me, good messieurs? I have written you an opera! Here I bring the finished score – **_**Don Juan Triumphant**_**!" **he declared, throwing it to Monsieur Andre.** "I advise you to comply – my instructions should be clear – Remember there are worse things than a shattered chandelier." **His gaze shifted to Christine, who stood there, petrified with terror. **"Your chains are still mine – you will sing for _me_!" **Then columns of flames erupted from the floor, startling Valentine, but petrifying everyone else. The performers and party guests scattered, Christine among them and in a moment of sheer luck, Valentine managed to grab her necklace as she ran by. Holding the precious engagement ring on the now broken chain, Valentine blinked in sheer amazement. _I can't believe that actually worked,_ she thought incredulously, before hurrying off. No reason in risking discovery now that the party was over. But still, she couldn't help but skip and chasse her way through the tunnels.

"**My dream came true," **she sighed. **"Away I flew. But oh those lips I yearn to kiss," **she murmured, closing her eyes as she imagined the Phantom's lips through which the most beautiful sounds ever produce emitted from. **"All my life, no greater bliss, than this lovely, lovely night." **She gigged (a testament to how absolutely giddy she was as she didn't giggle) finally making it to the lair, only to hear a scream and be forced to duck as a candlestick was hurled her way.

"**Damn him! That insignificant coxcomb! That utter buffoon – how dare he take my angel from me?" **the Phantom screamed, picking up another candlestick, which Valentine was forced to dodge yet again. **"Curse him! That unimaginative idiot! That foppish ninny! I'll kill him before he takes my Christine! Damn him! Curse him!" **he shouted, sinking to the ground in despair. **"The night that should've been perfect – years of yearning for this moment when the darkness becomes illuminated with light and love, though I had thought, it would never come true, not for me… not for me… but, Christine… she can learn to love – she will soon see, behind the mask, there is a man who can be loved… though I may seem to be beastly, but she'll truly see, that she redeems me. Truly see… truly see…" **The Phantom stopped when he turned around to see Valentine dangling the diamond engagement ring in front of him from the now broken chain. He was struck silent for a moment before he sighed and murmured,"Oh Valentine." She slipped the ring into his hand and curled his fingers around it comfortingly. He closed his eyes, euphoric in just being able to touch something that had been on the soprano's bare skin. He then took a deep breath and reopened his eyes, slipping the ring into his pocket, before straightening up and saying, **"Now, you must go back – It will be dawn and my theater will need attending to," **and leaving. Valentine couldn't help but sigh internally; back to business as usual.

* * *

><p>Predictably, the Opera House was practically buzzing with energy for the next few days. Everyone from the managers to the maids were absolutely terrified out of their wits, to the point where any sudden noise or movement caused them to shriek and cower in fear, which aggravated Valentine since she felt like she was the only sane person at the Opera… for once. One such occasion was when the girls heard a noise from the closet and spent a damn ten minutes just debating who should open the closet, before Lorraine stepped forward and opened the door and a broom to fall out and make all the girls scream as something darted across the floor.<p>

"Oh for God's sake it's just a _rat_!" Valentine shouted, bringing her boot down and squashing the creature flat as it tried to rush past. Grimacing, she scraped its remains off of her shoe and threw them into a nearby bucket, before rounding on her colleagues. This had gone on long enough. "What has gotten into all of you?"

"Us? You seem surprisingly calm considering how the Opera house is practically being held hostage by the Ghost," Nicole pointed out and Valentine rolled her eyes.

"What do I have to fear from him? He's after Miss Daae, not me, not any of us." Thought honestly, I wouldn't mind him being after me, she added in her mind.

"He still killed Buquet for God knows what reason." Valentine scoffed.

"Joseph Buquet was a drunken fool who liked using his 'sightings' of the Phantom to get into girls' beds. Plus, he was far too nosy for his own good."

"You sound like you know an awful lot about how the Ghost thinks. One can't help but wonder how? Do all freaks think the same or do you do more for him than clean his box?"

Valentine was reaching for her knife at this point and the only thing that stopped her from pulling it out was Lorraine shouting, "Oh will you two just stop it! It's bad enough we have to constantly watch ourselves, but you two talking about him like this isn't helping. Now go do your work," she demanded and reluctantly, Valentine and Nicole turned away. The other maids then left and the two young women just gathered their things as they headed off to do their chores.

"It's not like we'll have to worry about the ghost much longer anyway," Nicole smiled and Valentine stopped.

"What do you mean by that?" she queried the other maid, who smiled malevolently.

"I was scrubbing the floors outside the office when I heard the patron and managers talking about how if Miss Daae sings then the Phantom will come watch her perform, meaning he'll be walking right into a trap."

"Oh," the red headed maid breathed out. The other girl raised an eyebrow.

"Oh? Just oh? No sigh of relief or smile or any thankfulness whatsoever?" She shrugged.

"He's just a man. And it's not as though Buquet could've been very hard to kill, I'm surprised that he hadn't fallen from the flies long before the Phantom got to him."

"You're mad," the dark-haired girl decided.

"And loving every second of it my dear Nicole. I'll be seeing you later," she said over her shoulder as she flounced out, dropping her rags and bucket the moment she was out of earshot and sprinting for the nearest entrance, the Prima Donna's mirror. What she wasn't expecting was to find someone in there.

"Oh Miss Daae, I'm sorry! I didn't know you were here, I thought you were at rehearsal!" she exclaimed.

"No, no, it's fine, I… I just don't know if I can really go out there right now. You can clean, don't let my troubles bother you," the brunette soprano assured her, rubbing her red eyes.

"It's perfectly fine Miss Daae. I'll come back later." She moved to leave and go to another passage, when something stopped her. "Are you sure you don't need anything?" she asked.

"No," Christine said.

"Is there anything I can do to help?" Valentine inquired, handing the mademoiselle her handkerchief.

"I don't think so," the young brunette said, dabbing at the corners of her eyes. "Not unless you have any idea how to stop a specter from haunting me." The red headed maid frowned and shook her head as she looked at the carpeted floor of the room.

"Sorry, miss. I'm just a maid." _But believe me, if I could get him to forget you I would,_ she added to herself as an afterthought.

"It's alright," she sighed, returning the hankie. Valentine moved to leave, but was stopped by Christine asking, "Have you ever had to do something for the safety of you and your friends, even though it put you and someone else you cared about in danger?" She stopped.

"Actually… yes," she said, her mind and hand wandering to the knife on her thigh and its first victim, a man who should have loved and protected and cared for her unconditionally and who, in reality, did anything but.

"What did you do?" Christine asked. Valentine hesitated, choosing her words carefully.

"I took the risk," she said. The young brunette bit her lip, lowered her head, and sighed sadly, as though she had heard the answer she expected, but did not want, causing Valentine to quickly add, "But you really shouldn't be asking me, mademoiselle. Do you not have a good friend or a guardian or a parent to advise you?"

"No I… wait, mademoiselle, you are a genius!" Christine declared.

"I am?"

"Yes!" The younger woman took out a piece of paper and scribbled something down before putting it on her dresser and pulling on her cloak. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll just be off!"

"At this hour?"

"I'm less likely to be stopped if I go now. There's no need for you to clean in here Mademoiselle, it's fine. Oh, and thank you." And then she swept out of the room. Against her better judgment, Valentine opened the parchment and read:

_Raoul,_

_I've gone to see my father. I'm sorry I couldn't tell you. I just need to be alone at the moment. Please don't be mad._

_Forever yours,_

_Christine_

_God, she really is perfect, isn't she? No wonder he fell for her_, she thought to herself. But then she remembered what she'd come down there for and hurriedly opened the mirror and used a secret short cut so that she would not have to use the gondola. "Monsieur le Phantom! Monsieur!" she shouted, finally entering the lair and within moments, the Phantom was there.

"Valentine, what–"

"They're going to kill you Erik!" she cried.

"What?"

"I just heard from the other maids, they've got some kind of scheme planned out, on Don Juan's premier, if you show your face, they'll catch you, maybe even kill you!" Valentine told him, tying to keep herself calm.

"That doesn't matter. Have you seen Christine?" he interrogated her.

"Yes, she just left–"

"WHAT? WHERE?" he screamed, grabbing her by the shoulders.

"She said she was going to see her father," Valentine informed the Phantom. He smiled.

"Perfect." Then he started hurrying about, collecting things like his cloak and hat.

"Erik, wait just listen!" Valentine yelled.  
>"Valentine, not now, the longer I wait the farther away she gets. I have to go and bring my wandering child back where she belongs." He moved to step into the gondola but the red headed maid stood in his way. "Valentine, get out of my way."<p>

"I can't let you go Erik," she stated.

"Get out of my way."

"No."

"Valentine, don't make me get out the Punjab lasso."

"Please don't…" she whispered.

"Then stop Valentine! I don't have time for–"

"**Erik, if you don't listen, then you'll die!" **Valentine screamed. The Phantom froze and she used his momentary distraction to throw her arms around his neck. **"Erik, I'm frightened – please don't do this… Erik, it scares me – don't go through with this ordeal by fire… they'll get you, I know…you'll be locked up forever… they won't let you go… What I once dreamed for you I now dread… if they find you, it won't ever end… and they'll always be there, hunting till you are dead… they'll always be there, hunting till you are dead…"** she sobbed. The Phantom slowly put his arms around her to comfort the crying maid, before pushing her back gently.

"**You said yourself you will help me if you can… Yet till she's here, then I might as well be dead…" **he lamented.

_**Twisted every way, what answer can I give? Is he to risk his life to win the chance to live? Can I help him catch the girl who gives his songs a voice? Will he become their prey? Does he have any choice? He never sees me there, if only he understood… I know I can't refuse and yet, I know I should… Oh God - if I agree, what torture waits for me in this, my Phantom's opera? **_she lamented in her mind. The Phantom, while oblivious to her true feelings for him, understood her fear and drew her face up to his.  
><strong>"Valentine, Valentine, don't think that I don't care – but if I am to ensnare Christine, I need you now…" <strong>he whispered softly to her.

The voices in Valentine's head were absolutely screaming at her, twisting and tearing her apart, but through the madness, she knew one thing for certain: with or without her help, he would get Christine or die trying. So she closed her eyes and sighed, before opening them and asking, "What do you need me to do?"

* * *

><p>Valentine took a drag of her cigarette, in a vain attempt to calm her nerves. It was Don Juan Triumphant's opening night and, if all went according to plan, Erik and Christine's wedding night. Which was why Valentine was currently outside in the cold February air, next to the opening of one of the passages that led into the labyrinth of passages throughout the Opera Populaire, black carriage next to her waiting to be occupied by the soon-to-be-married couple. Suddenly, she heard roars and screaming coming from inside the theater and within moments the audience was rushing out the doors. She swallowed; that could only mean one thing. Erik had been found. She took another drag of smoke and started pacing, in hopes of calming herself down. Needless to say, it wasn't working.<p>

_Oh God, where is he?_ she wondered as the time dragged on and the moon started to lower in the sky. _Please let him be all right._

She heard heavy footsteps heading her way, which confused her. The Phantom was usually much more careful than this; then again, he was being chased by an angry mob. A figure stumbled out of the passage, breathing heavily, and as Valentine hurried forward, she was greeted by the true face of the Phantom. To say she was not surprised would be a lie, as she had never looked behind the mask and as such had no idea of what truly lay hidden beneath it: a few gray hairs covered an otherwise bald head and the right side of his face was a mass of twisted, sunken skin, with gap that revealed his skull and even a piece of his brilliant mind. Valentine quickly shook herself from her shock and rushed over to the Phantom's side.

"Monsieur le Phantom! Monsieur!" she cried, but he simply sat on the side of the road next to the passage he had just emerged from, before burying his face in his hands. "What happened? Where's your Christine?" she inquired, looking down the dark hallway, expecting to see the beautiful young woman clad in a wedding dress trailing behind. The Phantom didn't look up at Valentine, just shook his head in his hands. Valentine kneeled down and gently stroked his face. "Monsieur?" she breathed. The Phantom finally looked up, folding his hands in front of him as though in prayer and shook his head again.

"Gone," he murmured.

"Gone?" echoed Valentine, not sure she had heard him correctly. The Phantom nodded.

"I sent her away with the Vicomte," he explained. "She is not a creature of night and wouldn't survive a life in darkness. She'll be happy and safe with him." Valentine exhaled, hardly able to believe her ears. He had let her go…

"Oh Monsieur," she whispered, gently wrapping her arms around him. A testament as to how distraught he was, Erik wrapped his arms around her without hesitation and buried his face in her shoulder as tears streamed down his face. Valentine held him for no one knew how long, but reluctantly pulled away, when cries of "**Track down this murderer! He must be found!" **echoed up from the secret passage. "We must go," she stated. "They're still looking for you. Here," she said, taking off her cloak and draping it over his shoulders, before gently placing her own white mask over his face. She helped him into the carriage and got up in the driver's seat, before asking, "Where to Monsieur?"

"Anywhere. Anywhere I can hide," he said, before melting into the seat.

"Oui Monsieur." And as Valentine snapped the whip and began the drive home, she couldn't help but wonder: with Christine gone, did she have a chance?


	7. Past the Point of No Return

**A/N: Here's the chapter you've been waiting for. Hope you like it and please review it.  
><strong>

**DeadAndLovely: I don't hate you! In fact I love you for reviewing!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own _the Phantom of the Opera_ or "The Point of No Return."**

Past the Point of No Return

"We must be careful. Make as little noise as possible," Valentine warned the Phantom as they made their way up to her apartment. But just as she unlocked the door and thought they were home free…

"Valentine!" a harsh voice yelled.

"Merde," she started to head back down stairs, stopping to whisper, "Go on up Monsieur. I'll join you shortly." The Phantom didn't respond but obeyed, leaving Valentine free to deal with her loathsome landlord. "What is it now Louis?" she asked. The greasy black graying haired man looked up at her door that the Phantom had just vanished through.

"You've brought a man home," he stated.

"Your point?"

"Rooming another costs extra." Valentine's jaw dropped.

"Extra! Hélène has a new man up with her every night and your charging _me_ extra?"

"That's cause she never misses rent. Besides, judging from that dress, you can most certainly afford it. Unless you'd prefer to earn the extra–" he leered.

"Not in this or any lifetime Louis," she snapped, pulling ten francs out of her purse and handing them to the greasy black haired man.

"Anyone else with your face'd be blessed to get an offer like mine," he spat.

"Then I'll gladly point them in your direction." Then she turned on her heel and left him in the dust. "Sorry about that," she told the Phantom, only just then realizing the mess of unwashed dishes, scraps of paper, and the unmade bed. "Oh… uh, sorry about the mess," she said, attempting to tidy up a bit. "Haven't had anyone over… ever, really." She chuckled nervously. The Phantom took no notice. "You can take the bed," she said.

"Valentine–" he said hoarsely, but she cut him off.

"No, don't try to be a gentleman. You've had probably the worse day anyone in history has ever had and I have to get up to go to work in a few hours anyways." The Phantom looked like he wanted to protest but merely sank into the bed and covered himself in the sheets. She sat on the bed and stroked his face comfortingly.

"Thank you, Valentine," he murmured.

"You're welcome Monsieur le Phantom."

"No. It's just Erik now. Monsieur le Phantom is gone," he whispered. She smiled sadly, but nodded and blew out the candle.

"Very well. You're welcome… Erik."

* * *

><p>And so she was up and at the Opera House, only a few hours after having provided the Phantom's escape from the very same place. Now, the entire staff was on deck, helping the managers sort through, appraise, and clean their ill gotten gains from the Phantom's lair. Among them, were Valentine and the rest of the Populaire's maids.<p>

"Look at me, I'm the Phantom of the Opera," Bridgette mocked, holding the Opera Ghost's white porcelain mask to her own face as she chased Bernadette about. "Christine, Christine, let me love you, let me kiss you–"

"Oh would you stop!" Valentine snapped, temper getting the worst of her. The blonde twins flinched and the red head immediately felt bad.

"Someone's in a bad mood," Nicole noticed.

"I was up all night because a friend got kicked out of his place and had to stay at mine," Valentine explained, and thankfully, the others seemed to buy it. And while their teasing did stop, the pain in her heart did not.

The darling music box, all his scores (a good number of which were still unfinished), his diagrams, his costumes, his miniature sets, the treasures that had been known only by the Phantom, Christine Daae, and herself: all being groped and examined and appraised by moneygrubbing fools who had no idea of their true value. For the first time since the death of her father, Valentine wanted to kill.

* * *

><p>"Is the food not to your liking?" she asked. It had been a week since <em>Don Juan Triumphant<em>'s premier and he had spoken to her perhaps thrice since that night. He did not answer, only picked at his meal of stew, apples, and wine. She looked down at her own plate. "I'm sorry if it isn't, I'm not a very good cook. My talents are only with the entrancing of the eyes, not the delicacies for the mouth." Nothing. She sighed. "Well, things have calmed down significantly since Don Juan's Premier. I think you might be able to escape the city without too much trouble. That'll be good, won't it?" Silence. "Maybe you could go out to the country: Fresh air. No one to bother you. A place you could live out the rest of your life and make your music in peace." Only quiet. "Or not. Then again, Paris isn't the only city with beautiful art and music. I'm sure Rome or London or some other city would do just as well." Stillness. At this point, Valentine had had her fill of his wallowing in his own misery and slammed her hands down on the table just to break the reticence. "Erik, this has to stop! You have hardly said anything since I've brought you here. You – you can't just sit here and cry over Christine for the rest of your life. If you do, you'll end up starving yourself to _death_!"

Finally, Erik looked up from his full plate of food and asked, "Why?" Valentine blinked.

"What?"

"Why? Why do you care?" he clarified. "My entire of life no one has ever cared for me, why should you?" Valentine looked into her lap, not wanting to risk him looking in her eyes and seeing the truth she had been hiding for so long. Erik, however, had different ideas and promptly grabbed her face and forced her to face him. "Look at me," he shouted, ripping away his mask in fury. "I am no man, I am a monster. A face like this deserves no kindness. Even Christine, who was good and kind to all, could not love a face like this. No one ever has and ever will give damn about me, care for me, or love m–" His words were stopped by Valentine pulling him to her by the front of his shirt and promptly forcing their lips together. Erik's response was to freeze on the spot as he had only ever been kissed once before, but the red head young woman who had just knocked him off his feet only kissed him harder. Once her passion had been exhausted, she released him and opened her eyes in horror.

"Oh mon dieu Erik… I… I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to, I just, I've been holding that in for so long and watching you waste away and saying those horrible things, I just, I couldn't let you do that to yourself," she sobbed, putting her face in her hands. Erik just peeled them away.

"You… you… _like_ me?" he repeated tentatively.

"No Erik." He shrunk into himself, but she pulled him back to face her. "I love you. I have for a very long time now." She looked away. "I understand if you don't care for me, I mean, I'm no Christine Daae, but I just wanted you to–" His hands cupping her cheek stopped her babbling and slowly, he stood and picked up his barely touched glass of wine.

"**You have come here, in pursuit of your deepest urge, in pursuit of that wish which till now has been silent… Silent," **he repeated as Valentine's breath quickened in realization. **"I have brought you, that our passions may fuse and merge, in your mind you've already succumbed to me, dropped all defenses, completely succumbed to me. Now you are here with me, no second thoughts, you've decided…" **He handed her the drink. **"Decided. Past the point of no return, no backward glances, our games of make-believe are at an end." **She gave him a sultry smile and drank, before putting it down. **"Past all thought of 'If' or 'When', no use resisting, abandon thought and let the dream descend. What raging fire shall flood the soul?" **he asked, wrapping his arm around her chest, hand at her neck. **"What rich desire unlocks its door? What sweet seduction lies before us?" **He trailed his hand down her arm. **"Past the point of no return, the final threshold." **Now he was tracing his fingers across her cheek. **"What warm unspoken secrets will we learn? Beyond the point of no return." **He sat in the chair and she stood, ready for her moment in the spotlight.

"**You have brought me, to that moment when words run dry, to that moment where speech disappears into silence… silence," **Valentine sung, twirling around as though wearing Aminta's flouncy dress. **"I have come here hardly knowing the reason why." **She closed her eyes and interlocked her fingers enticingly. **"In my mind I've already imagined our bodies entwining, defenseless and silent, now I am here with you, no second thoughts, I've decided…" **She was bent over the table, enjoying the way Erik was eyeing her, before changing her position so she was leaning against it. **"Decided. Past the point of no return, no going back now, our passion play has now at last begun. Past all thought of right or wrong." **She came up behind Erik. **"One final question: How long should we two wait before we're one?" **she asked, locking hands with him. **"When will the blood begin to race, the sleeping bud burst into bloom?" **She directed his hand like a conductor, making him burn from the contact. **"When will the flames at last **_**consume us**_**?" **She moved to dance away, but he grabbed her arm and pulled her in.

"**Past the point of no return," **the two crooned, dancing together like they were made for it. **"The final threshold, the bridge is crossed, so stand and watch it burn." **He spun her into his arms, before turning her around to face him.** "We've passed the point of no return****,****" **they murmured, their lips finally embracing as they fell onto the bed, ready to never let each other go.


	8. Playing Parts

**A/N: ... You are all going to hate me for this chapter (as is the norm, but still). Sorry/not-sorry. Hope you enjoy and please review.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own _The Phantom of the Opera_, "I feel pretty," or "Twisted Every Way."**

Playing Parts

"What's happened to _her_?" Nicole wondered, watching Valentine tried on hats in the costume room, the energetic redhead beaming at herself the mirror.

"What do you mean?" Bernadette asked.

"I mean, I've never seen her so giddy," the dark-haired girl explained.

"Giddy? _Valentine_?" Bridgette repeated, observing Valentine closely.

"How else could you describe that?" she pointed out as she motioned to the illustrious red head, who was now spinning around and strutting about, Elissa's scarf wrapped around her like she was Christine Daae herself.

"The poor girl's lost her mind," Bernadette concluded.

"I have. I'm absolutely mad!" Valentine agreed, spinning by the three maids.

"She looks different too," Bridgette added.

"I do?" Valentine echoed.

"I think she's up to something," Nicole suggested.

"Am I?" she resounded.

"'I do?' 'Am I?' I've heard fortune tellers who were less vague," Bridgette chuckled.

"What's happened to you Valentine?" Bernadette asked.  
><strong>"I feel pretty, oh so pretty, I feel pretty and witty and bright, and I pity, any girl who isn't me tonight!" <strong>Valentine declared. **"I feel charming, oh so charming, it's alarming how charming I feel, and so pretty, that I hardly can believe I'm real. See the pretty girl in that mirror there?" **she inquired, looking at a poster for Hannibal with Elissa on the cover. **"Who can that attractive girl be? Such a pretty face, such a pretty dress, such a pretty smile, such a pretty me!" **she complimented herself dancing around. **"I feel stunning, and entrancing, feel like running, and dancing for joy, for I'm loved by a pretty wonderful boy." **She then brought out the Countess' fan from _Il Muto_ and started dancing with it.  
><strong>"Have you met my dear Miss Valentine, the craziest girl on the block? You'll know her the minute you see her. She's the one who is in an advanced state of shock," <strong>they said as Valentine pranced around, waving the fan around her like she was a Spanish fandango dancer. **"She thinks she's in love, she thinks she's now rich," **they proposed, as the crazy red head went,** "Lalala," **as she kicked her legs like a can-can girl.

"**She isn't in love, she's merely bewitched. It must be the cold, or some rare disease."**

"**Lalala."**

"**Or she's getting old, or maybe it's fleas. Be wary of her," **they said as the maid began flinging costumes about like they were hers to do with as she pleased.** "Get her outside. She isn't who we work along side. Quiet but blunt, seemingly resigned." **

"**Lalala."**

"**Alone but upfront, and out of her mind!"** The other maids gave in upon seeing her beaming face peering at them through the racks and declared, "**The Prima Donna! Sing! The Prima Donna, brava! Sing! Sing!"**

"**I feel pretty, oh so pretty, that the king should just give me Paris!" **Valentine sang, Aminta's shawl wrapped around her. **"A committee, should be organized to honor me."**

"**Lalalalala, la, la, la, la, la," **went the maids.

"**I feel dizzy, I feel sunny, I feel fizzy and funny and fine, and so pretty, the Prima Donna can just resign," **the giddy girl laughed.

"**Lalalalala, la, la, la, la, la."**

"**See the pretty girl in that mirror there?" **she asked, pointing to the poster for "Don Juan Triumphant", Christine Daae as Aminta smiling seductively in the center as Don Juan gazed at her from afar.

"**What mirror, where?" **they asked.

"**Who can that attractive girl be?"**

"**Which, what, where?" **

"**Such a pretty face!"**

"**Who?"**

"**Such a pretty dress!"**

"**Who?"**

"**Such a pretty smile!"**

"**Who?"**

"**Such a pretty me!" **Valentine cried, striking a pose.

"**Such a pretty me! Such a pretty me! Such a pretty me!" **the maids echoed, striking their own poses.

"**I feel stunning!"**

"**I feel stunning!"**

"**And entrancing!"**

"**And entrancing!"**

"**Feel like running and dancing for joy!"**

"**Feel like running and dancing for joy!"**

"**For I'm loved by a pretty wonderful boy!" **they all sang, Valentine wrapping herself Aminta's shawl.

"What on earth is going on in here?" Lorraine screeched upon seeing her maids in costume and the room almost torn apart. All the girls then turned on their heels to her, Valentine slipping on a piece of cloth.

"Ah!" she screamed as she fell gracelessly, wrapped in more fabric than even Carlotta could ever wear.

"Valentine's in love," Bridgette teased and Lorraine raised an eyebrow.

"Oh? With whom?" she asked and Valentine blushed.

"You don't know him," she evaded.

"Oh, don't go all secretive on us now!" Bernadette wined.

"Sorry girls. My lips are sealed." She paused and beckoned them closer. "But we're leaving Paris. Together."

"What? When?" the twins exclaimed.

"Tomorrow. Right after work. We're running away."

"Oh Valentine! How romantic!"

"What about Box 5?" Nicole demanded, reverting back to her usual self. Valentine sighed.

"I'll clean it once more tomorrow. I told you I'd do it for the rest of the time I'm employed here. Besides, the Ghost is gone. You have nothing to fear now."

"I wouldn't say that," Lorraine said, looking Valentine over warily. The red head took the head maid's hands.

"Lorraine, believe me, I have known this man for years. He is a good man and he loves me dearly." Lorraine looked unconvinced but nodded.

"Just be careful my dear."

"Aren't I always?" she smiled.

* * *

><p>Valentine came home to the apartment late that night. Lorraine had made her clean extra both for the distraction she'd caused and the fact that she would be leaving before she was technically supposed to have her paycheck, but it was worth it. Anything was worth a life with Erik. But surprisingly, he wasn't there when she returned. "Erik? Erik? Where are you?" she called. Nothing. She stepped further into the apartment and the door snapped shut behind her. She spun around to find Erik smiling her.<p>

"May I ask why you are here, my lovely lady?" he asked teasingly. The grin she gave him was every bit as tantalizing.

"I live here, Monsieur," she simpered. He frowned disconcertedly.

"Surely not." She nodded sadly. He surveyed the room. "Dear, dear." He clucked his tongue. "This simply will not do."

"If I cannot live here, where would I live?" she questioned.

"Anywhere you want, as long as you let me come too," he said. She pretended to think for a moment before smiling again.

"I hear Venice is beautiful. And think of it: a city of art and music built on the water. Sounds just like home, doesn't it?"

"Very well, Venice it is," he said and unable to contain herself any longer, Valentine threw herself into his arms, making him fall flat on the bed. This was the happiest moment of her life; she was in love with a man who loved her, she was starting a new life him, and with his resources they'd never want again.

"Oh Erik," she breathed, wanting to hear her name on his lips.

"Oh Christine," he sighed in reply. Valentine froze. Wait… what… had he just said? "Christine?" she echoed, using up the little air that had remained in her lungs at that exclamation, and Erik stopped in his endeavors. "Christine?" she repeated and the former Phantom's eyes widened when he realized his mistake.

"Oh no," he whispered.

"CHRISTINE!" Valentine screamed as she threw Erik off of her and shot up straight in her bed.

"What have I done?" Erik muttered, hand on his forehead.

"You've used me to get over CHRISTINE!" she shrieked.

"Valentine, please understand–"

"I know what you were imagining: Christine as your lover!" she spat.

"Valentine, will you just listen?"

"No you listen!" she sobbed dryly. "For two years I have _followed_ you, _pined_ for you, and when I finally make my feelings bared, you use me to fulfill your own selfish desires. Then again, I shouldn't have expected anything else from you. You never loved anyone but yourself, not even Christine, you saw her as nothing more than a pretty girl with an angelic voice who you could use and mold into a perfect living wife. Well I'm _sorry_ to disappoint you, _my dear phantom_, but she's _not_ your little angel of music, she never _will_ be and she never _was_, and you might as well just accept that! She's probably already forgotten about you, she might've even eloped with her Vicomte by now," she spat as her sorrow slowly formed into fury.

"Stop it," he grit out, but anger blinded her and made her want to hurt him like he'd hurt her.

"Even if they haven't eloped, they've probably already shared a bed. Imagine, Christine passing the point of no return with her Vicomte, letting him do all those naughty things to her that you wanted to do," she taunted, bending over the table just like the night before.

"Stop–"

"Do you think she'll sing for him too?" **BAM!** Valentine was up against the wall and she couldn't breathe and the Phantom's, not Erik's, eyes were glaring down at her, colder than the harshest winter and yet burning with the fury of the sun on an inconsolable summer's day.

"You should know better than to tangle with the Opera Ghost Miss Valentine," the Phantom spat at her. "Punjab lasso or not, I can crush your throat like paper."

"Monsieur le Phantom… stop… please, you're scaring me," she choked out but he did not listen and increased his grip on her neck. "Monsieur le Phantom… please…" she begged, as the world started to blur and darken. In a fit of desperation, Valentine used her last breath to scream, "ERIK!" That one word seemed to snap the Phantom back to whatever sanity he still had and he dropped Valentine, stumbling backwards as he gazed upon his own hands with horror. The young maid coughed and gagged as she tried to return air to her lungs, head dizzy from the combination of air loss and the shock of what had just happened. The man she loved… had just tried to kill her. Finally catching her breath to a satisfactory degree, she looked up at him in pure terror and upon meeting the Phantom's wide eyes, bolted to the door, snatching her cloak off the rack as she fled.

"Valentine!" the Phantom cried, trying to go after her, but she kept running, never glancing back. She ran, and she ran, and she ran, through the darkened slums of Paris, not wanting to take the risk of stopping and having her emotions catch up with her. But unfortunately, no one can run forever and eventually she collapsed on a park bench, miles away from her apartment. Wrapping her arms and the fold of her cloak around her, Valentine couldn't hold her sorrow in any longer and she cried. She cried for having fallen in love with a man who could never love her. She cried for not having learned the lesson from her father and knowing better than to live with and love someone who could so easily and so carelessly hurt her. She cried because she did not know what else she could do. She'd given her mind, body, and soul to a wanted man who had just made it very clear he did not care for her and now she had nothing. He didn't love her and even if he had, how could she ever trust him again?

_**Twisted every way, I need an answer from above: Am I to risk my life, to win the chance to love? **_she asked herself._** Can I break away from he who made my heart take flight? Should I face the day? Should I stay in the night? He harms without a thought. He uses all who aid… I know I must refuse and yet, I wish to stay… Oh God – if I agree, what demons wait for me, in a life, with my poor Phantom?**_

Then, a voice that was not her own and not her father's entered her head. _**Valentine, Valentine, consider if you refuse, for it is time for you to choose your own fate now, **_the kind and seemingly familiar voice advised her.

The voices in Valentine's head were absolutely screaming at her, twisting and tearing her apart, but through the madness, she knew one thing for certain: the Phantom still loved Christine and not her. Sighing to herself, she stood and headed back home; she knew what she had to do.


	9. Finale

**A/N: So this is it. The final chapter. I've had a great time with this and here's to hoping you did too. So here's to hoping you enjoy and please review. It means the world to me.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own _The Phantom of the Opera_, "Ah Christine/Little Lotte reprise," "Why does she love me?," "Why have you brought me here?/Raoul I've been there," "Don't Cry for Me Argentina," "Eva's Final Broadcast," or "Once Upon Another Time."**

**P.S. The post script of Valentine's letter is sung to the tune of the line "Yet in his eyes all the sadness of the world Those pleading eyes, that both threaten and adore" from**"Why have you brought me here?/Raoul I've been there,"** or "This haunted face Holds no horror for me now. It's in your soul That the true distortion lies..." from "Down Once More/The Final Lair."  
><strong>

Finale

The former Phantom of the Opera awoke the next morning to find a breakfast of buttered croissants, strawberries, cream, and coffee waiting for him, a letter and Valentine's sketchpad next to them. How she had managed to come back here and set all this up without waking him was beyond him, then again, after she'd run off, he'd drunken himself into a stupor that would've rival one of Joseph Buquet's, which likely would've made it much easier for her. Not to mention she could rival him when it came to going around unnoticed, though he imagined she found that to be more of a flaw when it came to her relationship with him. Lifting himself off of the cot, he moved toward the meal and opened the letter first.

_**Monsieur le Phantom, I know you love Christine, **_her letter read.

"Valentine, no," he murmured.

_**Monsieur le Phantom, this was our final scene. **_

_**Our last night together, like those under the Opera.**_

_Romantic idiots_, her letter read.

"Those two people are gone," he agreed.

_**Now I must go, our choices are made. T**__**he opera is done, the last notes have been played**__**. **__**May the angel of music watch over you now, and give you what I couldn't **__**give you… somehow**__**.**_

_Your formerly obedient servant and friend,_  
><em>Valentine<em>

_P.S. __**Take a look at my finished masterpiece,**_

_**And find someone who you can make heartbreak end.**_

He looked through the sketchpad he had given her oh so very long ago, and saw himself. Only it wasn't quite him. It was him, the feared Phantom of the Opera, unmasked and showing a hideous face that was even more distorted and disfigured than in reality, to the point his face looked more like that of a rotting corpse. He was sitting in Box Five with Christine chained to the seat next to him in her wedding dress, while the great crystal chandelier fell onto the cowering performers below and three bodies hung from Punjab lassos. He read the caption beneath, in Valentine's still somewhat messy handwriting. _What they see_, it read and he frowned. He was not eager to see what insult was on the next page. But as he turned the page to find himself staring back at him again, he was surprised at the rendition. It was himself again, and yet again, it wasn't quite him. He was hunched over his organ, oblivious to the world as he worked in his element. He was in full Phantom garb, black wig slicked back and white mask in place, but he did not look threatening in the slightest. In fact, Valentine had made him… dare he say it… handsome? He read the title: _What I see_. Erik blinked as he gently brushed his fingers over the flawless rendition. "Oh Valentine," he murmured. She'd understood him, helped him, cared for him, and loved him when no one else would… and now she was gone. He sighed and sank back onto the cot, setting down the letter and pad of paper before rubbing his face into his hands.

**"She looks for sympathy, I give her sorrow. She asks for honesty, I've none to borrow," **he mourned. **"She needs my tender kiss. She begs it of me. I give her ugliness. Why does she love me?" **He took the tickets to Venice out of his pocket. **"She yearns for higher things. Things I can't give her. The joy that true love brings, I can't deliver. And even when she dreams, and soars above me****,**** I then destroy her schemes. Why does she love me?" **He sighed. **"Just leave Paris. That's what I need; Restart in Venice. Leave the hurt behind." **He grabbed the bottle of wine from last night and poured himself another drink, downing it in one gulp. **"She wants the man I was: Dreamer, musician. At least, she thinks she does. I'm no fruition. Beneath the mask I wear, there's nothing of me," **he said, motioning to the exposed side of his face. **"Just horror, shame, despair. Why does she love me?" **He looked at the portrait of the man she saw him as. **"How 'bout you, sir? Tell me what am I to do, sir? Leave the hurt behind****.****"**

Erik shook his head and got his coat off of the rack. He couldn't let it end like this. He had to see her. One last time.

* * *

><p><em>One last time<em>, Valentine told herself as she headed upstairs to clean Box Five for the final time, straightening the red scarf she'd tied around her neck to hide the bruises from her last encounter with Erik. _No, it's Monsieur le Phantom_, she reminded herself. Whatever friend and lover she had found in the genius of the man known as Erik was gone. She had to accept that now. After deciding to leave him, she had snuck back to her apartment and written him a note and left him her sketchpad in hopes of him being enough of a gentleman to respect her wishes and leave on the train to Venice alone. Of course, it was entirely possible that he'd just ignore her message and would stay, meaning _she'd_ have to find a new place, which was something she was hoping not to do, especially since she'd already turned in her resignation; this place held too many now-painful memories for her to continue working here. Either way, she'd find out soon: her day would be over once she finished up with Box Five and either the Phantom would be there or he wouldn't be when she got home. Stepping into the box, she began her usual rounds, checking for dropped ticket stubs or any garbage of any kind of the floor before she moved up. But as she looked up at the bannister, a patch of red caught her eyes. It was a rose; a single red rose, with a black ribbon tied to the stem. And the black ribbon had a piece of paper attached to it. Picking up the rose, Valentine turned over the paper and read, _Please meet me on the roof whenever time allows it. –Erik_

She sighed. _I shouldn't go,_ Valentine told herself. _I left him the note so I wouldn't have to face him again. Going to him would be playing right into his hands._ Valentine looked over the note again. _He said please. He never says please. And he'll keep bothering me until I do what he asks_. _And what's to keep him from using force to see me again? _she reasoned with herself. Fighting a small war between her head and her heart, Valentine finally caved and headed for the roof. _Fine, Monsieur,_ she thought to herself bitterly. _You win._

* * *

><p>Valentine carefully treaded out onto the roof looking to the shadows for the man who had asked to see her. Feeling a presence behind her, she turned around to find herself chest to chest with the Phantom of the Opera. Stumbling backward a bit, Valentine eventually regained her balance. <strong>"What are you doing here?" <strong>she asked.

"I had to see you," he replied.

"**Your train embarks!"**

"I need you.** I can't go on like this!"**

"Monsieur, please stop it!" she cried.

"**Lost in the dark!"**

"You cannot think that!" she insisted.

"**And yet I must remain deep underground," **he said, looking at the setting sun that he spurned yet longed to feel the warmth of.

"Just leave this living nightmare. Believe me,** he's gone, the Phantom of the Opera," **she assured him, but he ignored her.

"**For the Phantom of the Opera cannot, **_**cannot**_** be found," **he said, before turning to her again. **"What if they find our bond?"**

"**They will not find me out," **she told him.

"**They're searching still."**

"**That doesn't mean–"**

"**They can't discover us."**

"**They know naught about–"**

"**Or else they'll kill."**

"**To them I'm clean!"**

"**And if they have to tear our world to shreds," **they agreed. **"The Phantom of the Opera has to be truly dead."**

"**He's gone, the Phantom of the Opera," **she repeated, but the Phantom opposed her.

"**No, he lives on. In their hearts, souls, and in their minds. In their world when the daylight dissolves into darkness. Darkness." **He stepped closer to her. **"Valentine, they'll find you. In the world where the night is blind. They will find you and catch you and **_**kill**_** you, like some sort of creature, a creature of night, like a monster,"** he said to her, reaching to touch her shoulder, only for her to flinch away, showing the bruises on the side of her neck. The Phantom traced the marks he'd left on her, eyes and voice full of pain as he echoed, **"Monster."** Valentine gently grabbed his hands and removed them from her body, before turning away to gaze over Paris as the sun set. Erik gave her a moment to think before he continued. **"But at night, you can vanish and go anywhere. In the night, you can live without a care. And at night, then your soul can truly soar! And you'll live as you've never lived before."**

"**What you see is a dream and nothing more,"** Valentine murmured. Erik carefully turned her around to face him. **"And in the night, you and I can share that dream. And in that night, it can be our reality,"** he promised, getting down on one knee as he presented Valentine with a small jewelry box with Christine Daae's engagement ring in it. Valentine stumbled backward, hand flying over her mouth in shock. She shouldn't have done this. Every fantasy she'd ever had, every joyous memory, everything good that they had ever shared went flooding into her mind with that one gesture. Their days as she sketched and painted while he played away on that organ, their evenings in Box Five, him presenting her with the gorgeous Masquerade dress… their recent nights beneath the moonless sky.

"Erik. Oh Erik," she sighed, closing his finger and securing the ring's place inside his palm. He looked crushed and oh, how she wanted to comfort him, but she needed to say these things now or else they would remain unsaid forever. She turned away from him unable to face him. **"It won't be easy, you may feel played, when I try to explain how I feel. How I can't take your love, after all that we've done. You won't believe me. All you will see is a girl you once knew, although she's revealed her true self, in hopes you'd show yourself too." **She took a deep breath, turned back to him an continued. **"I was willing to love you, was not afraid. Was willing to show you the love I could feel, to trade daylight for candles, to stay out of the sun. But you pursued her, so I hid what I felt, tried to make her love you. Though nothing could change that at all. I never expected it to. You don't love me, Monsieur Phantom. And yet I have always loved you. All through our wild days, our mad existence, I kept my promise. You kept your distance. And as for anger, and as for rage, I never invited them in. Though it seemed that to you they were all that I had. They were distortions, out of proportion from the desire I felt. The truth was inside all the time: I loved you, but you don't love me. You don't love me, Monsieur Phantom," **she repeated and he stopped her, producing her sketchpad and opening it. There lay two sketches, one of an old hag with horrible scars across her face and the other of a brilliant red haired beauty whose eyes sparkle with imagination. Valentine covered her mouth again, but shook her head still. **"You don't love me, Monsieur Phantom. And yet I have always loved you. All through our wild days, our mad existence, I kept my promise. You kept your distance." **She faltered. **"Have I said too much? There's nothing more I can think of to say to you. But all you have to do is look at me to know, that every word is true." **And then she pulled him to her and kissed him hard on the lips. It wasn't a kiss of love or lust or exploitation. It was one of goodbye and that made it the most special of all. Even the Phantom, who did not want to let her go, put all of his apologetic, regretful feelings into the kiss, to the point where he lifted her off her feet and spun her around. Finally letting her come back down to earth, they separated, though still touching their foreheads to each other's. He slipped the ring into her hand again, refusing to take it this time and she eventually nodded, separating form him, the sketchpad and ring now in her possession. **"Don't cry for me my dear Erik. The truth is I shall not leave you," **she promised as she backed away toward the entrance to the roof. **"Though it may get harder for you to see me, I am there with you, and always will be. Have I said too much? There's nothing more I can think of to say to you. But all you have to do is look at me to know, that every word is true." **And then she walked down the steps and back into the Opera Populaire, turning her back on the Phantom… forever.

* * *

><p>1905<p>

Valentine, now a much older woman, now sat at the very same throne the Phantom had last been seen in. Wiping tears she hadn't realized she'd shed from her face, she opened the secret compartment and took out a spare candle and match. After putting the candle on the nearby stand, the older woman brought out a well-worn sketchpad and turned to two sketches of a handsome man in a white half facemask and a beautiful woman with brilliant red hair and a few barely noticeable marks across her face. She then lit the candle and surveyed the pictures in the illuminated darkness, hands folded together almost in prayer. The Vicomte de Chagny and Christine Daae had vanished from public life after the disappearance of the Phantom, though rumors said that they had eloped within twenty-four hours of Christine's abduction. The Vicomte de Changey suddenly resurfaced two months ago to bury his beloved wife, and not one month later, the body of a deformed elderly man identified as the Phantom of the Opera was found in Venice. And so now Valentine was here, under the Opera House she had avoided for decades, to say her final goodbyes to her beloved Phantom. **"Once upon another time, our story had only begun. He chose to turn the page… And I made choices too," **she sang softly to herself, running her fingers over the diamond engagement ring on a chain around her neck that had once belonged to Christine Daae herself. In spite of the economic struggles she'd faced over the years, especially after having left her job at the Opera House, she could never bring herself to sell the ring and forget Erik entirely. There had been other men over the years: Edgars and Vincents and Claudes and Henris, but none of them had left as much of a mark on her soul as the Phantom.** "Once upon that other time, we did what we thought must be done, we thought we had no choice, did what we had to do. We loved, we lived, we gave what we could give… and took what little we deserved."**

She closed he eyes and sighed, feeling a rush of wind that rushed through the lair, feeling like a presence she hadn't felt in decades. **"Once upon another time, I knew how our story would end, and maybe I was wrong… but now the moment's gone," **she continued, still feeling the chill of the long gone breeze that made her feel as though someone was watching her.** "Were it still that other time, I'd make time itself somehow bend. But now I'm not that strong… and time keeps moving on. We loved, we lived, we gave what we could give… and took what little we deserved." **She smiled as tears cascaded down her face. **"We loved, we lived, we gave all we could give… and took what little we deserved. Once upon another time," **she lamented one last time, before she blew out the candle, leaving nothing but darkness.


End file.
